Saved
by AproposOfNothing
Summary: You save yourself, or you remain unsaved. Casey deals with a terrible experience. Strong CO friendship. Every character will be involved.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Just so any of you new to this story know, it is going to be epic...eventually. I had thought about it being a one-shot, so if you would rather just read the first chapter and stop there, feel free to do so. This story takes place in the present day, but because I haven't seen all the new episodes since last season, it may be like it was where we left off then. I would appreciate reviews. Flames are welcome.

* * *

**You save yourself, or you remain unsaved." Alice Seabold "Lucky"**

* * *

**Near Midnight Friday, November 9th 2007**

* * *

"_this is 911, please state your name and the nature of your emergency."_

I clutch the phone in my hand, unsure of what to say. But somehow I speak without thinking. "My name is Casey Novak, and I was raped."

There is the buzzing feeling when I say this, A feeling of separation from everything. Shock, I think, it's definitely shock. The same feeling I had when a friend died, only a dozen times worst. Because I was raped?

No, not just that, it's because I killed my rapist. Killed, as in he's dead; he won't breathe, won't think, won't feel ever again. You know I try to pretend that I'm a good catholic girl, but the truth is that I don't believe in the afterlife.

"_Ma'am, are you still there? Can you tell me where you are." _

"Yes, I'm at West 117th street , 32 Morningside Avenue, apartment 2B."

"_I will send some police and an ambulance. They should be there in less than ten minutes. I will stay on the line until they arrive."_

How comforting. I will only have to look at the body for a little bit before the police come and arrest me. I should probably tell the operator that he's dead. How do I say this? I don't know how, so I just do it.

"Uh, the police should know that he – um, his body is still in my apartment. He's dead. I killed him."

Silence on the line. I guess that she is not sure of what to say.

"_Please just stay where you are. The police should be there soon."_

"I will."

My rambling mind thinks of what I am supposed to do now. They should know I'm with law enforcement, shouldn't they? SVU will be called, and what will they think when the address they are told to come to is mine? What do I tell my boss? I have to say something now.

"Also can you tell the police that I'm an ADA with the Manhattan District Attorney's Office and I would appreciate it if you would contact the Special Victims Unit. Olivia Benson. Call Detective Olivia Benson and ask her to come."

I tell the operator Olivia's badge number, precinct, and cell number. The 911 operator will call dispatch and dispatch will call Olivia. She'll answer her cell, no matter what the time of day. I want Olivia here because she's a woman and my friend. She'll understand what happened even if I can't properly explain it.

Abstract thoughts are floating in my head. Did he have a mother who loved him? Did he deserve to die? And what is death anyways? Am I going to die? Because what he did to me hurts like a bitch, and I've got his blood and mine all over me.

I should be freaking out about now…but I can't feel anything except the hum of the city around me and my heart's furious beating within me. It's taking all of my concentration to stay awake.

The operator is speaking to me, but I can't really hear what she's saying. I wonder if this is how most people feel right after being attacked. But it also might have to do with the amount that I am bleeding from my head…and other places that I don't want to mention.

Maybe it's the blood itself. You see, right now I am curled up in fetal position on the linoleum floor of my kitchen in my underwear, clutching a ripped bloody shirt and a telephone. There is a lot of dark red blood on my linoleum. And blood makes me dizzy.

There is a man lying about two yards from me. He is in his late twenties or early thirties. He has a shaved head and brown eyes. He is average looking, except his pants are around his ankles and he has two gunshot wounds to his chest.

My name is Casey Novak. I was just raped. And I killed my rapist.


	2. Chapter 2

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**Saturday, November 10th 2007, 12:15am**

* * *

It seems like an infinite amount of time until the police come, but I can see the alarm clock on the table by my Murphy bed, so I know that it has only been eleven minutes. They come through the open front door with their guns up. They check the apartment and "clear it" making sure that no one else is here. One kneels beside me and the other checks the man for a pulse.

"Are you ADA Novak?" the officer asks me.

"Yes" I'm relieved that they know who I am and what happened.

He touches me, most likely in an attempt to administer some first aid, but suddenly I am repulsed. "Don't. Touch. Me." I didn't mean to say those words with so much force, they just came out that way.

He walks away for a minute and just when I think that he is going to leave me alone he comes back with a towel from my bathroom and covers me with it. I suppose he thinks he's being a gentleman, protecting my dignity and modesty. Well he's too fucking late.

"I am Officer Romero. You need to let me help you Ms. Novak. You're badly injured." As if I didn't realize that already. I wince from his touch, but I let him put pressure on the cut on my head.

"Hey, Alejandro," says the other officer, "We have a problem. Come'ere"

He walks away for a moment, and the two of them confer in hushed tones. I can't hear what they are saying.

He comes back over to me. "What was that about?" I ask.

"Don't worry about it. You're going to be ok." But he sounds nervous.

In a few minutes the ambulance comes. I want to wait for Olivia, but I know I have to get to a hospital. They won't let me try to walk, and I can barely even stand up by myself, so I have to go on the gurney despite my wounded pride. It makes me feel claustrophobic to be lying here strapped to the stretcher wrapped in bandages and blankets. Since I live in a walk-up they have to take me down the stairs, and it is all I can do not to panic.

Just as they are putting me in the ambulance a black Sedan with flashing lights screeches to a halt in front of my building. Olivia jumps out of the driver's side without even closing the door and runs to the ambulance, climbing in. "Casey, I'm here, okay, I'm here." She sounds worried and looks disheveled, but she made it here in record time and I've never been more relieved to see her. She throws her car keys to an officer who is standing near the ambulance and tells him to park the car while she rides with me.

Alejandro, the officer from upstairs runs up to the ambulance and gestures to Olivia. She moves to him and he says something to Olivia. She nods and turns back to me with a frightened look on her face. She quickly regains her composure, but not so quick that I can't tell she's worried about something more than she was before.

One of the paramedics speaks. "Detective we need to get her to the hospital right now. She has some traumatic injuries that have caused a lot of blood loss and she may have a concussion." Olivia nods, so they close the ambulance doors and go.

On the ride to the hospital I reach out to take Olivia's hand. She lets me hold onto her, which is good because right now I really need someone to hold onto.

"I'm glad that you're here," I say. My voice is hoarse, so I can't really speak above a whisper.

Olivia manages a faint smile. "Me too. Casey can you tell me what happened? Just enough so we know what to look for when – "

"when you do the rape kit. I know Olivia. He – He came up from behind, put a gun to my head. It was oral and P to V. He used a condom. Sadist cut me with a goddamned knife. I tried to fight back and he slammed my head against something. When he was... when he was raping me his gun fell out of his pocket. I grabbed it and shot him. He fell on top of me. He was dead. I pulled myself out from under him and called 911."

I feel so tired, but even more freaked out. Maybe that's why I could talk about it - denial hasn't set in yet. The paramedics put an IV in me and I barely feel it.

"Olivia what's going on? What did that officer – Alejandro say to you?"

"Casey, you need to be calm."

"Calm about what? Look, I want to know."

She hesitates for a moment then speaks, "Case, the guy who attacked you may have been HIV positive or had AIDS. One of the officers at the scene found anti-retroviral medication in his pocket."

"Oh. Fuck." What else is there to say? He put his goddamned penis in my vagina, in my mouth. I have his blood all over me from shooting him when he was on top of me, and I have a dozen cuts and scratches all over me. What are my chances? With all that exposure, what miracle would keep me from getting the virus? Maybe now is a good time to pray, even if I don't believe in heaven.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **I tried to make the medical parts in this chapter as accurate as possible. If there is anything that you know is wrong please tell me. This is all from the point of view of our exhausted, injured and drugged ADA, so it was hard to write…I was trying to show her drifting in and out.

* * *

**Saturday, November 10****th**** 2007, 12:30am**

* * *

My point of view is rather strange at the moment. Imagine you are lying down in a moving vehicle, feeling and looking like crap, and quietly freaking out. You feel light headed and little grey dots are trying to overtake your vision, but when you look up you can still see two paramedics trying to keep you alive and your best friend talking to you in an effort to make you retain consciousness.

Weird huh?

* * *

"Casey, stay with me honey, please?"

"I'm here, Liv," I murmur. "where 'er we goin'?"

One of the paramedics answers, "Mount Sinai Medical Center is the nearest." It's across town, but we get there pretty quick. Hurray for sirens.

They wheel me into the ER with some urgency. Olivia stays with me, holding my hand through it all. She tells them my medical info – my name, age, blood type, and social security number, and that I am allergic to cephalosporin antibiotics. I wonder for a minute how she knows all this information about me, but then I remember that she was there the last time I was attacked by a psycho.

I guess that I'm fading in and out of consciousness, or else there's just too much going on for my poor addled brain to process. I'm occasionally jolted awake by someone poking and prodding me.

* * *

They have stuck the sticky pads with leads for the heart monitor on me and there is a tube with oxygen going into my nose. I hear the beep of the monitor; it isn't as steady and slow as it should be…but it doesn't seem that bad.

I am vaguely aware that I am moaning in pain. "Her blood pressure is low. Administering 30 milligrams morphine and 2 mics of epinephrine…" They jab me with a big needle. And another after that.

And then I drift off into a drug-induced haze…

* * *

"We need to get a gynecologist down here right now."

"Look Detective, we need to get her stabilized before we do a rape kit. That's our priority."

"Of course I agree. But Casey…"

Casey wants you to do a rape kit. Casey doesn't want to be accused of murder because there is not enough evidence of justifiable homicide. But I can't say that because I'm too tired. Then I'm out. Again.

* * *

Now the gynecologist is there and my legs are bent at the knee and spread out, my feet in stirrups like they would be for an pelvic exam. She says, "She was raped with a knife."

Yeah, I remember that. It bled a lot and hurt like hell. I remember screaming at the top of my lungs. But it didn't matter, because I was gagged. I see Olivia up and to my right; as she hears the doctor she turns as white as I usually am.

The doctor's injecting me with some sub-topical pain medication and about to stitch up my feminine parts. It hurts. She is speaking to me, telling me what she is doing and going to do in a comforting voice.

Another doctor has stitched up my head and the cuts the man left on my breasts. Above and to my left I see hear a bag of saline and a pint of blood being pushed into my veins with the click-click sound of the machines. The rhythm of the heart monitor is soothing. It means I'm still alive.


	4. Chapter 4

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**Saturday, November 10****th**** 2007, 5:47am**

* * *

When I next wake up I am still in the ER, hooked up to all the medical machines known to humankind. Well, that's a _bit_ of an exaggeration. I feel like the IV in my arm is pouring ice water into my veins. There are some bandages on my forehead and my hair is stiff with blood from the cut on my head. I have one of those removable casts with velcro on my left arm. I hurt in places I didn't know I had.

Olivia is by my bedside. Her eyes are closed and it looks as if she's been crying. It is a moment before she notices I am awake and when she does she surreptitiously wipes the tears from her eyes before facing me and smiling.

"Hey Casey. How are you feeling?" She rests her hand near me and I take it in mine.

I whisper. "Okay." And at the moment that is how I really feel. Hurray for morphine.

I suppose she understands from the look on my face that I want to know what has happened. "Case, It's been about five hours since we brought you in." She looks at her watch, "It's four thirty am. The doctors have taken care of all of your major injuries and we did a rape kit while you were unconscious. You have a hairline fracture on your lift arm, a minor concussion, and some pretty deep cuts on your body, but there is nothing that will cause permanent damage."

"AIDS?" I whisper.

As always Olivia knows what I mean. "Case, the doctor said that you might be able to take meds that could prevent it, but it's not a sure thing." She bites her lip, "Look, there is no guarantee, but I promise that we will all be there for you no matter what."

For the first time since I was raped tears come to my eyes. It's just too much. On top of everything the possibility of AIDS is too much to deal with. Olivia wipes the tears from my face and puts her arms around me gently, and just for a second. It's like she's afraid of crushing me.

"Casey, if you're up for it there are a lot of people here to see you. But if you're too tired that's alright."

I nod. "Yeah, s'okay."

Olivia opens the curtain and waves them over. Cragen and Munch are here, dressed as if they rolled out of bed and threw on whatever first came to hand. A friend of mine who prosecutes drug dealers, Adria Poulin, is here as I would expect her to be; years ago when we started working for the DA's office we both had no family in the area, so we listed each other as next of kin on the forms they gave us. What I didn't expect was Arthur Branch to be standing there, dressed in a tux, as if he rushed here from some formal party. I almost laughed and stopped short when I remembered why he was here.

Cragen speaks first. "Casey, Fin and Elliot are processing the crime sc – uh, your apartment. They asked me to send their love and they want to come to see you later."

I nod, then Branch speaks, "The office is behind you on this Casey. It was obviously justifiable homicide, so no charges will be filed. I will speak to the press and explain the incident without revealing your name. You have nothing to be worried about and you can take as much time as you need to recuperate."

"Thank you," I say hoarsely. "Thanks, all of you." But I don't have the energy to say anything else. I try to keep my eyes open by force of will, but it's impossible.

I hear the doctor speaking before I fall asleep. "Between the trauma, blood loss, concussion and medications we expect her to be drifting in and out for a few days. You can stay if you want, but let the poor girl rest."

I would say that I am a _woman_ goddamn it, not a _girl_, but at the moment I am just too tired to be a feminist.


	5. Chapter 5

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**Saturday, November 10****th**** 2007, 1:36 pm**

* * *

When I wake up feeling less like a zombie Olivia and Adria are the only ones there. Looking at the clock I can't believe how long I've slept. I remember waking for moments as people came in and out, but I didn't really feel like being social.

They are talking softly to each other and they seem to have hit it off. It's nice that they like each other – they are my two closest friends from work, and while they seem like polar opposites on the surface, they are both passionate and powerful women. I can see them through my half closed eyes, speaking softly but animatedly with each other. Adria has light brown skin with beautiful brown curls and dark eyes, and she's as sweet as they come. She's wearing pink again (a cardigan) and a brown skirt. As usual Olivia is all leather and denim. I'm glad they're the ones here in the wake of this horror. Even though I was glad to see the guys, I don't really want them near me at the moment.

I don't feel like letting them know that I am awake yet, so I just listen to the conversation... and I have to say that I am intrigued by the topic

I hear Adria's slightly southern accent: "You know, her uncle was a science teacher, and he had a big influence on Casey in her formative years, so she named the family dog Pavlov."

Olivia laughs. "That funny, you know, Casey has never struck me as the scientific type… Did you hear that time she subpoenaed Dick Cheney?"

"Of course!" Adria laughs, "Casey told me. I thought that it was hysterical. I mean, she knew that she wouldn't get the Vice President in front of a New York State Grand Jury, but she wanted to make a point."

"She did," sighs Olivia, "but we still lost that one…Casey always surprises me when she gets involved with a case. She doesn't mind invading crime scenes, yelling at cops, or messing with people in high places if it's a means to an end."

"You make her sound ruthless."

"No, no, it's not that at all." Olivia's voice catches in her throat, "Casey is passionate and caring, and to me those are very endearing qualities… they make her always go the extra mile. It's just that there are times when I've wanted to strangle her for pushing everyone past their limit to endure… and there are other times when I really worry about her wellbeing because she pushes herself harder that anyone else, and blames herself more than anyone when things go wrong."

"Do you think…do you think that Casey's going to be alright?" Adria's voice is soft and tense. "She's seemed… tired, angry since all that's happened – I mean her job's insane, there was the Duvall case assault, and her ex recently died. I just don't know how to talk to her now."

"It's hard… for me too. It's hard because Casey doesn't want to be seen as a victim, and she won't think of herself as one." Olivia smiles, just a little. "You damn ADA's aren't cops, but you aren't civilians either. As a cop I've had experiences where I was hurt, even violated, but I'm trained to deal with that. Plus, I have a badge, a gun, and my brothers in blue to back me up.

Olivia sighs, "All victims of assault, especially victims of rape, feel shame. Just let her know that you're there for her. She won't want pity. And one thing that I've learned is that you should never tell anyone who has been through a traumatic experience that you understand how they feel. You don't understand. That's lesson number one." Adria has a little furrow in her brow, like she always does when she's concentrating.

"What's lesson number two?"

"I don't know. There isn't a manual, and everyone reacts differently to trauma."

Adria nods, and I can tell that she's still thinking. We are close; I drop by her office late at night to chat. Lawyer talk and Girl talk. We hardly have anything in common but our profession, and in a way that makes Adria an easy confidant now – we don't work together on a day-to-day basis and she can give me good objective advice.

We worked in white-collar crimes together; frauds and rackets, rackets and frauds – anything too big (reaching outside the state) we gurglingly turned over to the US Attorney's Office. We worked well together – with different backgrounds and educations we complemented each other – Adria majored in Economics, and minored in Political Science. I majored in Political Science and minored in Psychology and Anthropology. My job was to figure out the people while she followed the money, and we split everything that took purely legal knowledge. She taught me how to do more with money than just balance my checkbook.

* * *

After hearing them talking I can't help but fidget a bit. I never knew that Olivia thought of me that way, or expected to hear her talking to Adria about this stuff. They turn to me.

"Casey are you awake?" asks Olivia.

"Yeah," I whisper. "Time?"

"It's around two in the afternoon," says Adria. I shake my head; I can't believe that I was out for so long.

"Shouldn't you be at work?"

She laughs, "Always thinking about work, huh, Casey? Branch gave me the day off, since I've been here all night. I think he really wanted me to be here for you. He has a soft spot for you, ya know."

I turn to Olivia, "What's going on with the – with my case?"

Olivia sighs, "We don't know much about the man who assaulted you yet. His name was Felix Lietnen. He just got out of Sing-Sing for sexual misconduct and date rape. He got a girl drunk and took advantage of her in Queens, but they couldn't prove rape one, or even date rape so he didn't do too much time. He was HIV positive according to the rapid test, but that's not always accurate. The lab work will be done in a day."

It's hard for me to keep myself from crying after that. I close my eyes and take deep breaths, trying to stop the burning in my throat. Adria moves to sit on the bed and hugs me. I wonder if what happened has worked its way into the rumor mill yet.

"Who knows about the rape?"

Olivia sighs, "Eventually people will figure it out, but for now it's been kept quiet. No one is being told about the rape. Everyone on our unit knows of course, as well as Huang, Warner, Branch, and your division chief."

Adria nods, "Also, ADAs Ethan Koppel and Jane Wilson know that you were attacked since they are taking your cases for now. But they don't know the details. No one knows the, ah, nature of the attack." I nod. I'm glad that no one knows that I was raped and that Koppel and Wilson are the ones covering for me; while I don't know either DA well on a personal level, I know that they both are dedicated and highly skilled at what they do.

I am in an isolation room of the ER, so the noisy sounds of the hospital are muffled. There are two uniformed officers standing outside the door, hands on their holsters. I couldn't be safer, and that's a great relief.

Adria, Olivia, and I speak softly about different things, the cases we're working on – I ask Adria and Olivia to pass on some information to Koppel and Wilson, and tell Olivia how they work – the last thing that I need is a case bungled because of miscommunication.

It's nice to be speaking with two other women – we can talk politics, local, national and international, about the war, the weather, global warming, about Darfur and human rights. I can't really speak too much, but I don't feel like sleeping and the company is nice. The conversation always turns before we get too close to talking about the rape.

We chat about the Mets and Yankees too. We argue, me in a strained whisper about our respective teams– it's just a fact that the Yankee's buy their wins, but somehow Olivia_ likes_ them. Being a Georgia girl Adria roots for the Atlanta Braves. We drop that conversation too - before we get into a real fight.

Then Olivia lets it drop that she's got a date with tickets to the Knicks. I'd kill for that – the tickets, not the date.

* * *

Dinner comes and Olivia threatens me with doctors and needles when I refuse to eat the hospital food - (Jello and mashed potatoes) that they lay before me. We settle on a compromise. John and Fin are on the way over to visit, so they stops at this new chain, Jamba Juice, and gets me some chocolate/protein/fruit juice concoction.

When they get here Fin gently squeezes my shoulder and John kisses me on the forehead like my favorite uncle. As he does so he plants "People Magazine" and "Weekly World News (The World's Only Reliable Newspaper)" in my hands along with the juice.

"For your reading enjoyment," says John.

Fin says, "Jeez John, do you have to give her that crap. Casey already has a head injury. Don't make it worse."

"I'll have you know that there are some very interesting stories in there. He reads the cover. The alien bible has been translated. Terrorists have formed their own airline. The democrats have planted a sexy intern in the White House to seduce Bush – plus I thought you might enjoy reading some of that garbage about celebrities in _People Magazine_."

At that I have to laugh, though it hurts my throat. John isn't that crazy, but Weekly World News is a funny little paper – probably the most ridiculous tabloid there is. My throat is so sore it is hard to swallow, so I take small sips of the juice while I listen to my detectives banter.

I start to drift off, but then the doctor comes and they all step outside of the room for a moment to give me some privacy.


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

**Saturday, November 10****th**** 2007, 2:33pm**

* * *

The doctor is a woman in her forties. She introduces herself as Doctor Jenny Golden. She smiles and shakes my hand before launching into her speech.

"Ms. Novak – "

"Call me Casey." She nods.

"I know you've been thorough quiet an ordeal, and you're probably tired so I will try to tell you what you need to know without taxing you.

"Your medical condition is stable; it helps that you're young and healthy. You will need to stay in the hospital for at least two nights because of your concussion and blood loss. You will probably be able to leave Monday or Tuesday, but you will have to take it easy for a few weeks and be careful not to rip out your stitches.

I hold up my hand. "Wait. Why do I have to stay here for three days? As you said, I'm not that injured – hell, I've been beaten up worse just doing my job."

"You need to stay for several reasons, not the least of which is your exposure to HIV. Your concussion is fairly serious and your stitches could rip if you move too much. Now listen." She sits down in a stool next to the bed and hands me a cup of pills. "Here are the medications that you need to take right now."

"What are they?" She points to each with gloved hands.

"This is the morning after pill, these are broad spectrum antibiotics, and these are antiretrovirals." I nod and swallow the pills with some water. "Now, Casey, you're going to have to take antibiotics for a week. That will help reduce the risk of you contracting most STIs, such as gonorrhea and Chlamydia. Have you been vaccinated against HPV?"

"Yeah." (It's a new thing, but I got it once it came out. I do have a sex life, and I don't want to end up with cancer).

"That's good, but the vaccine is new and it only protects against the three major strains, so you will still need to be tested for HPV and Herpes a few weeks from now.

"At the moment we can't say for sure that you won't contract HIV but there are some medications that may prevent it. Antiretroviral drugs given at or shortly after exposure can reduce the risk of HIV infection. It's called post-exposure prophylaxis. It is believed to work, though nothing has been proven.

"We will give you antiretrovirals and antibiotics every day that you are here, and you will be given prescriptions before you leave. But first you will need to see an HIV and AIDs specialist. We may be able to identify the strain of AIDs that you were exposed to, and then give you drugs that are better at targeting that strain."

"What are my chances of getting HIV?"

"Since we are not sure of how much blood and fluids you were exposed to it is impossible to say – I'm sorry."

She takes my hand and looks at me sympathetically, "You needed a lot of stitches and some of them need to be removed in a few weeks. Because you were raped with a knife it is possible that the internal scarring will keep you from having children, but that is unlikely. We would also like you to meet with a psychiatrist before you are discharged. As I'm sure you know, that's standard procedure for rape victims."

Rape victims. I am a rape victim. Casey was raped. Somehow that just doesn't feel real. I wonder when it will sink in. As a Psych minor I know the stages that a person goes through when they've lost something, when they're been hurt. First shock, then denial, anger, and depression – all that has to come before acceptance; if only knowing those stages could help me to avoid them.

I assure the good doctor that I understand my prognosis and that I will stay long enough to see the shrink and AIDs specialist.

Olivia comes back in just in time to see me cry a little because of what the doctor told me. Adria has gone to find food for Olivia and her – I can't stomach anything more right now. Fin and John had to go to investigate a double rape-homicide; sex crimes don't stop just because I'm stuck in here. I fall asleep again, feeling safe with Olivia next to me.


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

**Saturday, November 10****th**** 2007, 8:02 pm**

* * *

It's evening now, and despite having just woken up after a few hours of half sleep I feel like someone sucked all of the energy out of me. I know that's normal given what happened to me, but it annoys me that I feel tired after sleeping for more than ten hours our of the last twenty-four. Normally I can function on 6 hours a night.

After a couple more hours in the noisy emergency room they found a bed for me in another wing of the hospital. They finally took off the leads for the heart monitor and the oxygen tube in my nose. It's a relief to be free of those wires, but I still have the IV in me and it feels like it's pouring ice into my veins.

Adria left after a while, because while she teases me, she is as much a workaholic as I am and she was jonesing for her case files. She promised that she would visit tomorrow. Olivia stayed with me.

* * *

Nurses and doctors have come and gone over the past few hours. The nurses were kind and caring. As a collective the doctors pissed me off with their callous manner. I doubt they liked me much either. I am a lawyer after all - and when they made me angry I did what any lawyer would do - I threatened to sue.

Rounds. That's what they call it when whole hordes of doctors come into your room. You are examined multiple times at this sort of educational institution so that the neophyte medical professionals can learn. Medical Students, Interns, and Residents are there, usually accompanied by one or two Attendings. I first experienced this phenomenon after I was beat up during the Duvall case.

Oby-gyns and internists invaded my room. I know that they need to learn, but they will not learn on me, not on my body, my genitals, or my vagina. I was feeling hazy but when they touched me I winced and drew back. "Leave me alone."

Some too eager young doctor spoke up, "Miss Novak, we need to examine you. You must be compliant." That woke me up. And I might have yelled just a little too much because of what he said. I probally sounded horrible because of my sore throat but I could still make myself heard. I sat up and glared at him.

"Listen you little prick. First of all, you do not all need to examine me. I'm not your fucking guinea pig. Second, it is Ms. Novak, not Miss. Get with the twenty first century. Third, I have a right to my privacy, and if you lay a hand on me I'll sue you and make your life miserable."

The young doctor frowns and backs up. Some of the others wince. Good. I scared them.

Olivia was outside of the room getting some soda from a vending machine. Lucky for the doctors, she came back in time to save them from my unholy wrath. She glares at them, annoyed and protecting - a look that she uses on anyone who is an insensitive ass around victims. She tells off the doctors for me, but in a much more quiet and polite manner. She stands at the foot of my bed.

"Look, she's tired and traumatized, but she's right about her privacy. You lay a hand on her and I'll personally arrest you for assault. Any doctor who is not here to _really_ treat her, _get out_. Please." She stepped forward, daring them to challenge her.

They took their conversation outside. I could half hear it. They first spoke of medical things but then an older woman's voice said, "Have a little tact for God's sake." And a deeper voice lectured, saying something about "physical and psychological trauma" and "respect." I almost felt sorry for the youngsters. Hell, I've been told off by a number of older colleagues in my day and I still get yelled at once in a while.

When they left the hall in front of my room I turned to Olivia. I shouldn't have been angry with her but I was. "You didn't have to protect me. I can take care of myself. And don't ever speak about me like I'm not in the room."

"Casey, first of all, you were right and they were wrong, and someone should have driven that point home for the sake of... of other victims." She clears her throat. "Second, I was trying to protect them from you. You sounded like you were about to go postal. Third...well I don't have a third point, but I wanted to kick someone's ass. I wish I could go back in time and kick Lietnen's to hell and back. If you hadn't killed him I would have; I'm pissed."

She blushed and I winced. She must have heard that whole rant of mine. I wasn't angry anymore. She said to Adria that I'm hard on myself - if ever the pot called the kettle black she did then. I stood up to hug her - well I had to lean on the bed, but whatever. Giving a hug is sometimes better than getting one.

* * *

Now Olivia is asleep, and I'm not going to wake her; after all, she's been up all night and all day worrying about me.

Elliot comes into the room, brooding, and while that state may not sound all that different from his baseline, but he looks more tired and serious than usual. Normally I would say that Elliot is cocky and a little standoffish, but now he just seems too down trodden for any of that famous Stabler attitude.

"Hey Casey, how are you doing?" He has lilies in a vase in one hand and a card in the other.

"Okay," I smile a little, "Those for me?" He puts the flowers on the table and hands me the card

"Yeah, from all of us." He puts the flowers on a table, and hands me the card.

"Thanks" I smile, and I open the card. On the front it says, "We wanted to send a card from the whole gang," There is a picture of cartoon animals. On the inside it says, "But we aren't the whole gang without you." On the inside there is a similar picture with a cutout – I suppose that's where I'm supposed to be.

The card has little messages from everyone at the one-six. Not just the squad, but Peter, the desk sergeant, two of the secretaries that I am acquainted with, and Alejandro and Jim, the first two cops on the scene. Who knew that Fin had such neat, girly handwriting? All of his reports are typed, so I've never seen it before. The only one missing is Olivia, and that's because she's been with me for the past twenty hours.

At the thought of everyone worrying about me, caring about me, I can't help it, my vision blurs with tears, and I try to take deep breaths, but I end up sobbing instead. Somehow, sympathy from other people always makes me more upset. I suppose it's because when other people are worried about you it's harder to deny that something is wrong. Elliot sits on the edge of the bed and lets me cry on his shoulder. He rubs my back and says, "Shhhh, shhh, it's alright" like he's speaking to one of his kids. Right now that doesn't matter to me. I'm just glad he's here.

After a few minutes I feel better and Olivia's still sound asleep. "Elliot," I whisper (because my voice is hoarse again), "can you tell Olivia to go home for a while? I don't think she'll listen to me, but she needs to rest somewhere more comfortable. She looks beat."

"Alright, Case but you know that the only way I'll get her to leave is if I promise to guard you with my life." He smiles, but I know that he is only half joking.

He walks around to the side of the bed that she is on, and touches her shoulder gently. When she doesn't wake up, he squeezes it harder, "Olivia, wake up, come on, rise and shine."

"Huh, what time is it?"

"8pm"

Suddenly she is wide-awake. "Wha'd I miss? What's going on?"

"Nothing Liv, everything's fine. But you need to go home for a while."

She rubs her eyes and looks back and forth from me to Elliot, "No I should stay, I'll stay."

"Olivia, you really don't need to," I say. "You should take care of yourself some; I'll be okay."

"I'll stay here Liv, everything will be fine."

"Alright, Alright, I'll go for a while…Casey do you want me to bring you anything from your apartment when I come back?"

"Uh, yeah, that would be nice. Toothbrush and paste, some underwear, sweatpants, and a couple of shirts, please. But take your time…I can live without it for a while"

She gives me a hug and then she leaves. Elliot takes her place as my protector, and the night wears on. Like I said, I'm exhausted, and I have to admit that it makes me feel a lot safer sleeping while I have one of them at my side.

With all the drugs the doctors gave me coursing through my veins I fall into a deep sleep despite the memories of the man threatening to invade my dreams.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: The beginning of this chap is meant to be slightly horrifying so here's your WARNING. **

* * *

**Sunday, November 10****th**** 2007, 11:20am**

* * *

_I unlock the door and open it, then go inside and close it quickly. Before I can lock the door and turn on the lights I feel a hand grab my shoulder and cold metal on my temple. It's a gun. "Hello Casey. You have no idea how much I've been looking forward to this. Now drop your purse and cell phone and we can have some fun." I do what he says. He reaches between my legs and touches me. He's kissing my chest, my breasts, touching me. I am involuntarily aroused as he puts his hands down my pants and touches my genitals, but at the same time I want to vomit; I don't want this; I don't want him. I am shaking, crying. I try to scream, but I can't seem to make a sound._

* * *

"Casey, Casey, It's just a dream, wake up, it's just a dream."

I wake up in a cold sweat, breathing hard. Olivia's shaking me, looking into my eyes. It takes me a minute to realize where I am. It's over now. I'm okay.

I lean back into the bed, still breathing hard. "Are you alright?" She's looking at me searchingly, probably deciding how to treat me, as a victim or a friend.

"Yeah, I'm good"

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not yet, Olivia" I know she's trying to be helpful, but I'm not ready. I'm just not.

I'm wide awake and aware now, for the first time since Friday. I woke up earlier in the morning and managed to eat a little breakfast – Elliot watched as I took each bite. I watched Sunday morning cartoons. I thought that it's funny the Jetsons and Flintstones are on still on TV. Just throw in the Care Bears and Rainbow Brite and you'd have the cartoon repertoire of my childhood.

After that I fell into a fitful sleep. The AIDs drugs they are gave me are already keeping me from sleeping and making me feel like puking.

Olivia must have switched places with Elliot while I slept, because he's gone now. Olivia has brought a small duffel bag full of my stuff. She sees me looking at it. "Here," she says, and hands it to me. Inside I find everything I asked for and more. A towel, a bar of soap, shampoo, my laptop, cell, my (god awful ugly, but oh so comfortable) crocs, and a stack of books that I had sitting on my bedside table.

Seeing the towel and soap I suddenly feel disgusting. I still have _him_ all over me. It makes me want to scrape my skin off, scrub until I'm red and raw. I pull the towel and soap out of the bag. "Olivia, do you think there's any way that I could take a shower around here?"

"I'll go check, ok Case." She walks out of the room and walks back in with a nurse a few minutes later.

The nurse doesn't want me to shower because of the stitches, but I tell her that if I can't I'm checking out AMA. I'm insistent, so she agrees after a few minutes argument, warning me to be careful of my injuries.

The shower is down the hall. It is a moderately sized room with ugly beige tiles on all sides, a couple showerheads on the far side and a large shower curtain that goes across the middle of the room. There is one of those plastic shower stools that seniors and the disabled use. I would like to say that I don't need it, but the truth is that I do.

Olivia asks if I want help. I say no, so she says that she will wait outside the shower for me. Then I realize that I can't seem to untie the back of my hospital robe. After cursing for a bit, I swallow my pride and ask for help. When I ask Olivia to come in she does, and she unties the gown for me, without judgment and without a word.

I stumble into the shower. I want the water to be burning hot, but even lukewarm water hurts my bruised and broken skin, so I settle for that. I shampoo my hair three times. I wish I had conditioner; after this my hair is going to be a mess. But then, at least it will be clean. I go over every part of my body several times with a bar of soap, careful to go around the stitches, but trying to get everything clean. When I see red-brown water running down my legs I realize that I still have blood on me. His blood, my blood, I can't tell the difference. I want to stay in the shower for longer; I still feel dirty. But my hands look like prunes and I think it will be a long time before I feel clean again.

When I poke my head out from behind the shower curtain Olivia hands me a towel and my clothes. I dry myself as much as I can and struggle to but on my underwear, sweats and a shirt. I can't wear a bra right now because of all the cuts. I put on the crocs on my feet and Olivia helps me back to the room. Normally I would hate being an invalid, but I the effort of taking a shower sapped me and I'm too tired to care.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **If any of you know about Casey's mentor (Mary Conway Clark) please tell me in a pm or review. I wanted to add more between them because their relationship is one of a few of Casey's outside of SVU that is mentioned.

* * *

**Sunday, November 10****th**** 2007, 1:07pm**

* * *

I slept again, then woke and read my books and briefs for a while. I feel so much better now that I am rested, clean, and in my own clothes.

Today seems to be a day for visitors. The detectives of the one six seem to have formed some kind of rotation; there's are always at least one of them here, and at least one uniformed officer at the door. I wonder how Cragen convinced the department to pay for that – the man who raped me is dead and there hasn't been any threat on my life. Ah well, I suppose when an ADA is raped it is a special occasion. Plus, I seem to be having a streak of bad luck when it comes to physical danger these past few years. If there was a betting pool on ADA's getting wacked at the office the odds would be against me.

Adria comes by to keep me company. She brings her computer as well as a cart with two cardboard boxes full of briefs and law books. She somehow finds a desk and chair, and she makes herself at home – my hospital room is now her office.

She asks me for legal advice I know she doesn't need to keep me busy, and we trade ideas about a case she has. It's complicated. Someone's laundering money, someone's embezzling funds, and someone has an account in the Cayman Islands. It's all connected, but there isn't much hard evidence showing how.

I end up having not one, but two judges visit me. Who'd a thunk it? Maybe I endeared myself to them, interrupting all of those late night poker games. Arthur Branch and my division chief come too.

* * *

Liz, that is to say, Judge Donnelly drops by around one – apparently, she heard what happened from Branch and she wanted to see how I was doing. Adria leaves the room when Liz comes in, murmuring something about a case file. Adria doesn't like Donnelly, which is no surprise; I know for a fact that no one really just _likes_ Judge Elizabeth Donnelly in a professional capacity. You can be her political ally or her political enemy, but the woman behind the Judge is a mystery to me, and pretty much everyone I know.

She places a vase of pink roses next to the lilies that the cops gave me and sits down without a word. I pull the card from the flowers and see that it's been signed by many of the judges I've worked with. Only Judge Donnelly hasn't signed the card.

"_Our Sympathies_". That's what the card says. As I look at the it she says, "You know, when they say, 'I'm sorry' and 'get well soon' what they really mean is 'I'm glad it wasn't me.'"

I snort. Donnelly is a tough judge to draw, but she's honest and blunt as a baseball bat. And the fact that she doesn't do '_sympathy' _well is something of a relief. I'm already starting to get tired of everyone walking on eggshells around me. But what she says next makes even me wince.

"So I heard that you killed him." Like I said, she has little tact.

"Yeah, uh, I did."

"Good for you." At first I think that she's being sarcastic, but then I realize that she is sincere.

"I wasn't intentional… I didn't really have a choice."

"Look at the upside Casey; there's no trial, no media, and the bastard won't hurt another woman. You survived, and you did a good thing, whether it was intentional or not. "

"Yeah, I'm a real hero, Your Honor. A real fucking hero." I blush, afraid that she will take offense at my language, but she doesn't.

She is silent for a moment, and then speaks quickly, haltingly. "Casey. When I was much younger than you – thirteen – I was assaulted. I wish I killed him. Be glad that you did."

And with that shocking statement she stands up and leaves.

* * *

Arthur and the Bureau Chief come by around two. They speak legalese at me. What they are basically saying is, you are a valued employee of the state, we're paying all of your medical bills, and you can take up to six months of paid leave (after that you can quit if you want to). Of course, the bottom line is, you better not sue us - Maybe there would be some basis for me to, but I doubt it, and I wouldn't if I could.

This is all said with the nicest of niceties. It still leaves a sour taste in my mouth, but I understand that they need to cover their asses, and they are being awfully generous. Six weeks of paid leave is all that they would legally need to give me to recuperate, and six months is far more than I need. After three months I will either be back working sex crimes, transfer to another division, or quit. I don't pretend to know which one will happen yet

* * *

The second Judge who visits me isn't really a judge; she is former judge – Mary Conway Clark. Mary has been a mentor to me since right after law school, so it's good that she heard about this from Branch rather than the rumor mill.

"How are you doing Casey?"

"All things considered, pretty good."

We chat for a while; small talk mostly. Mary has never worked with rape victims. She doesn't seem to know exactly what to say, but she talks anyways, about her family and work, and she asks me about mine. Our relationship has never really been one of confidences; she taught me what they don't teach you in law school, and I in turn, worked hard as hell for her as a clerk for two years.

So we end up talking about the law. She's afraid the Supreme Court is going to overturn Roe v. Wade before Bush is out of office. A recent supreme court case, Bell Atlantic Corp. v. Twombly, is changing the way that antitrust law works for the worse. There's a lot for a well-informed democrat to worry about in this day and age. With the Patriot Act we're losing our Civil Liberties and we practically have our own star chamber. Secret Courts and legalized torture – gotta love it.

It's all very worrisome, but right now I like thinking about the larger issues of the day – it is a good distraction from my own problems.

* * *


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **I warn you that this is** EXTREMELY GRAPHIC**, but in an anatomically correct way. Rape is vulgar, and so is my description of it. If you want to skip this chapter, you are missing Casey's statement, and that is sort of important to the story.

* * *

**Sunday, November 10****th**** 2007, 7:30pm**

* * *

Olivia, Munch, Cragen, Fin, and Huang are all here. Olivia told me that they would be coming, but somehow I didn't think of how hard this would be.

We chat for a while. They ask how I'm doing and I appreciate their support, but being in a room with this many people is suffocating right now. They don't know what to say, to each other or to me. We all know that the real reason they're here.

"Casey, we really need your formal statement as soon as possible." Cragen says, "The sooner that we can say definitively that it was self-defense and close the book on this one, the better. Your statement is all we need to do that."

"Ok, I'll give my statement now. But then you have to spill. I want to know everything there is to know about Felix Lietnen." I am trying to be strong willed, but the idea of recounting what happened makes me tremble.

Don nods. "Okay. You know, we don't all need to be here for the statement." He glances at Olivia and she nods. "If you just want Olivia here that's alright."

"Can Olivia and George stay?" Like I said, Olivia is my best friend, and a woman, but I don't want her to be the only one who has to listen to this. Maybe it's because Dr. Huang is so obviously gay that I don't mind telling him this, or because he's short and gentle, or even because he's a shrink, and he is supposed to be understanding. Anyway, I think they're the two least intimidating people here.

"Sure, that's fine." Munch, Fin, and Cragen leave the room and close the door behind them. Olivia pulls out her digital recorder.

"You ready Casey?"

"Yeah, I guess." I feel a knot of anxiety in my chest, but it's probably better to get this done with.

She turns the recorder on. "Today is Sunday, November 11th, 2007." She glances at her watch. "The time is 7:46 pm. This is Detective Olivia Benson, badge number 32612, of the Special Victims Unit, NYPD. I am here with Dr. George Huang, Special Agent for the FBI, and Casey Novak, Assistant District Attorney for the Manhattan DA's office, and the witness in this case."

"Casey, please state your name and occupation for the record."

I take a deep breath. "My name is Casey Novak. I prosecute Sex crimes for the Manhattan DA's Office. I work in conjunction with the Special Victims Unit."

Olivia speaks, "Please give us your account of what happened on the night of Friday, November 9th."

"I left work at 7:30pm. I went for drinks with a friend from college. His name is Jeffery Hansen, and we have known each other for the past ten years. He lives in Philadelphia, but we get together when he has business in New York. We had drinks; we spoke for a while. Jeff had a 10:00pm Amtrack train to Philly to catch, so we left at nine in the same cab. He got out at Penn Station, paid the cab fare for both of us, and the cabbie continued to drive me uptown to my apartment. I got to my apartment at 9:37pm. I looked at my watch, so I'm sure of the time. I went up to my apartment."

I stop talking. I can't tell. I can't say this. I feel like I'm going to hyperventilate, so I take deep breaths. I sit on the bed with my knees bent up to my chest and my face buried. Somehow I think that this will be easier if I don't have to see Olivia's and George's faces as I tell them.

"Casey, you can do this," says Dr. Huang. "What happened when you got to your apartment?"

"I opened the door, and... and he as there. The lights were off so I didn't see him. I closed the door and that's when he put the gun to the right side of my head. He was behind me. He put his left hand on my shoulder and he spoke to me." I pause.

"What did he say?" says George.

"He said, 'Hello Casey.' He said something like, uh, 'I've been looking forward to this. Drop your purse and cell phone and we can have some fun.' I did what he told me to do. After that he started to touch me."

Tears are running down my cheeks. I take a minute to get my breathing under control.

"He, uh, he put his left hand between my legs, down my pants. He kissed me, my chest, my breasts. He told me to unbutton my shirt and I did. He put the gun to the back of my neck and told me to get on my knees.. He moved to stand in front of me. He made me have oral sex with him. He told me to swallow. Then…then he didn't have the gun pointed directly at me anymore, so I bit his – his penis as hard as I could. He yelled and dropped the gun. I tried to grab it, but he grabbed me by my neck first and slammed my head into the kitchen counter. I think I blacked out for a moment. I was dizzy. When I came to he said that I would pay."

I stop again, breathing hard and choking, sobbing despite my attempts to remain calm.

"Honey, you're doing just fine. Just a little bit more, and you'll be done." Olivia speaks softly and takes my hand in hers. I take a deep breath and continue.

"He made my lie down. He gagged me and tied my hands, but it was fairly loose. I could move my hands fine. He cut me with a knife he got from my kitchen. My breasts, the inside of my thighs."

I gasp, because remembering this is actually, physically painful. I am still in pain. "It hurt, oh god, it hurt! He licked the blood off of me. He kissed me. He had his hands all over me."

I keep crying; shuttering gasps escape my mouth. Deep breaths, Casey, take deep breaths, I remind myself. I force my tone to be flat and measured. This happened to someone else. Not me.

"I tried to scream. I tried to pull away from him, I swear I did. I swear it. He wanted me to fight; he was laughing at me. He raped me, then…then... he used the knife to rape me again." I laugh bitterly. "I suppose I'm lucky that it was not a bigger knife or I'd be dead. All the time he was touching me, and calling me things: whore, bitch, cunt. He said I deserved it. He said I was asking for it by being a prosecutor. Then he kept telling me how beautiful I was. I didn't understand it; he didn't make any sense saying all those things at once."

My voice drops to a monotone. Somehow I feel like I'm drifting, like it really wasn't me who shot that man... just for a moment, I'm not here. Just for them moment Casey Novak has left the room, and a pod person is here in her place.

"He started to rape me again. He had the knife in one of his hands, and he had put the gun in his pants. The gun fell. I grabbed it. I shot him twice. He was on top of me and he fell on me…he was gasping for air. He looked shocked. He was a lot heavier than me, so it took me a minute to pull myself out from under him. I kicked the gun and knife away from him, even though I thought he was dead, put my underwear back on and called 911."

I snap out of my emotional void as I suddenly feel the need to explain why I was practically naked when the police showed up: "I would have put my clothes on, but they were covered in blood. It was 11:50 when the police arrived. I can't…I can't believe he was only there for two hours."

I break down crying. My arms are wrapped tightly around my knees, and I bury my head in them, rocking back and forth.

Olivia says, "That's good Casey. We're done. This recording concludes at 8:20pm." She turns off the recorder and hands it to Dr. Huang. He leaves the room. Olivia wraps her arms around me and holds me as I cry uncontrollably into her shoulder.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: In this chapter I discuss Casey's family a bit, in case you are wondering why they're not with her. **

* * *

**Monday, November 11****th**** 2007, 8:26 am**

* * *

Last night after giving my statement I buried my head in a pillow and told Olivia to "make them all go away" and she did. Somehow I thought that I could tell them what happened, just the facts, and I would be all right. But I'm not all right.

After I stopped being hysterical, I just lay there, in a semi-catatonic state. Olivia let me wallow for a little bit, then she took one of my books from the duffle bag and started reading. Out loud. A Tale of Two Cities, a book that has been in my stack forever. I intended to read it during law school, but I had so much work for my classes that I gave up on pleasure reading. During the summers I had grueling internships, and then I was working eighty-hour weeks for the DA's office. Dickens is not light reading, but it is poetic, musical almost, and it lulled me to sleep last night.

In my dreams Lietnen was whispering in my ear and running his hands all over me. But every time I woke up crying Olivia was there, and I fell back asleep knowing that she was watching me and keeping me safe. Early this morning I woke up and felt really awake and I needed to move around.

They say that I can leave tomorrow. I want to leave now, but first I have to see an infectious disease specialist, because they now know that Lietnen definitely had HIV (they got back the more conclusive lab results). And that shrink – I guess they want to make sure that I'm not going to completely decompensate when I'm released.

I still feel sore and tired, but I suppose that will take a while to go away. Olivia said that I'm staying with her. Period. Which is good, because CSU hasn't cleared my apartment yet, and I don't want to live there anymore anyways.

Olivia is still sleeping, and I'm not going to begrudge her what rest she can get. She looks so much less guarded with her eyes closed and her breathing deep and slow. I would almost say that she is cute, but even in her sleep her hand is on her holster and her gold shield is prominently displayed.

I feel jittery so I get up. They took the IV out yesterday night, so I am finally free of wires and tubes. I get dressed. There's a cafe in the atrium upstairs – I leave a little note for Olivia telling her where I'm going. I know that she'd really freak if she woke up and I wasn't here. I grab my laptop and cell phone and sneak past the nurses' station and up the elevators to the café that is on the top floor.

I can see central park from the café through big long windows, and I have managed to pick up a wireless signal, so I get a cup of tea (my stomach is too unsettled for anything else) and check my email. My inbox is overloaded. Work, spam, more work, and an email from my oldest brother Eamon:

_Hey Case,_

_What's up? I'm emailing you about thanksgiving. Carrick, Brian, and dad are coming to my house this year. Please come – I miss my little sis. The kids and Mary want to see you too. How's work going? Hope your kicking the bad guy's butts._

_Love ya,_

_E_

What do I tell him and my other brothers, my father? Ever since I joined SVU all I do is disappoint them. First I tell them that I am going to prosecute perverts, and they tell me that they support me, but want me to be careful. Then I get beaten to a pulp by a victim's brother, and my father cries when he sees me. It's the first time I saw him cry since my mom died when I was six.

Now here I am, a rape victim myself. I was supposed to be a great success; in law school I had my life planned out, the law as my career, Charlie as my husband, and I imagined that one day I'd be a working soccer mom, getting to do it all. Sometimes I feel that since Charlie got sick my life has been going downhill.

I can't answer Eamon's email now. Just looking at it makes me want to cry again. I love my family, but I don't want to tell them; to hear the sadness and disappointment in their voices. Lately I've been lying to them a lot. Or lying by omission. I didn't tell them about Charlie hitting me, or about how hard his death hit me. I didn't tell them that I paid for his funeral. I couldn't stand the idea of him being buried in potter's field, so I went to a priest that I know and begged for him to have a catholic burial. It's what the old Charlie would have wanted. After having a gun pointed to my head during the neo-Nazi case all I told my father is that I had a "bad day."

I delete my spam. I look at my cell phone and there are five voice messages, none of which I want to listen to or answer. I look a specific bit of news online; I'm actually looking for myself. And there I am, not mentioned by name, just a blip on the radar of the media's consciousness; Branch's press release is all that they know, and no one's digging. "On Friday night an unnamed assailant was killed by an ADA of the Manhattan District Attorney's office, after he assaulted her." That's it.

I start to look at the New York Times online to see what has changed in the world since the last time I was wired in. The answer is, not much. Darfur is still the genocide that no one wants to talk about. Burma is still sealed tighter than Donald Rumsfeld's ass. The screenplay writers are still on strike, and Britney Spears is still a lost little fruitcake. The world hasn't changed at all, but my world had changed irrevocably.

No sooner than I start to dwell on what happened to me than I see two figures walking towards me, one tall and lanky, the other shorter and more muscular. Fin and John sit down across from me at the table.

John speaks, "So here's our wayward ADA. We came to see you in your room, and found Olivia sleeping like a rock instead. I'm surprised that you're up so early."

"What, you thought that I would be sitting around and moping?" The words come out bitter. Somehow the intensity of my anger surprises me. "Don't treat me like a victim, guys, I don't want anyone's pity."

"Casey you've been through a lot in the last thirty six hours, and it's good that you don't think of yourself as a victim." He smiles, "But you know, you're entitled to mope if you want."

"Well I don't want to mope now, but I reserve the right to do so later." God, I sound so childish when I say that. I sigh, "They said the HIV drugs can keep people from sleeping – I can't lie still right now."

"Casey, we all did some digging on Lietnen for you," says Fin. "The case is closed on the books, but we can tell you what we found out."

I nod. "Tell me."

Fin glances to Munch, then back to me. "I went up to Sing-Sing yesterday and spoke with everyone who came into contact with Lietnen." He pauses for a moment. "His bunkmate was Andrew Ocheret."

I feel the blood drain from my face. I prosecuted this guy; he was a total sadist. The photos of what he did to women made me physically ill and gave me nightmares. At first he had a female attorney, but she recused herself because she "was unable to adequately defend him." Truth was, she was afraid of him, and I didn't blame her – neither did the trial judge. The way he looked at me in court kept me from sleeping for the duration of the trial. He was a really sick bastard. I feel my stomach rejecting the tea that I just drank. I stand abruptly and stumble to the nearest trash can.

Then Munch is behind me, gently holding back my hair. He tries to put his hand on my back and I involuntarily flinch. So he stands there and waits for me to finish puking my guts out. When I finish being sick he helps me back to the table, and helps me sit.

"Casey, do you want to go back to the room?"

"No, no, I need to hear everything. Tell me."

Fin starts again, "Casey, Ocheret told everyone on his cell block about you. The guy was obsessed with you. He told them where you live, that you were 'the bitch' who put him away, and that you were beautiful and would 'put out.' He spoke to Felix Lietnen more than anyone else. He's in solitary now, so he can't talk to other convicts about you anymore, and none of the other guys on the block were sex offenders, so hopefully none of them will try to take a shot at you." Fin is serious. He has never looked scared in my presence, probably because he has spent so much time undercover, but he looks concerned now.

I nod, unable to say anything and barely able to comprehend that half a score of criminals know were I live.

Munch says, "I know you probably want to move after this, and you probably should move to a unlisted address."

While Casey the freaked out assault victim is trembling the lawyer in me speaks, "We can probably get Ocheret on facilitation of assault and rape He's a manipulative sociopath – if we can show that he intended to cause me harm and put the idea in Lietnen's head then we have an easy conviction."

Munch speaks, "Casey are you sure that you want to do that? Ocheret is already in twenty-five to thirty for the five rapes he committed. Why make yourself go through that if you don't have to?"

"I don't… wouldn't I be a hypocrite if I didn't seek justice in my own case?"

"It's not hypocritical. You have the right to spare yourself more pain; the bad guys are off the streets, you and every other women are safe from them."

"Safe John? Safe!" I'm crying again, not even knowing what set me off. "I don't know the meaning of the word 'safe' anymore."

Without knowing what I am doing I am standing and pounding my fists into John's chest while the tears fall down my face. He grabs me and holds me close. When I can breathe again I feel light headed. My legs are stiff. John is holding me under my arms, and gently lets me down into the chair.

"Casey, you've been through a hell of a lot and you need to go back downstairs. You're still not well." I nod, surrendering my pride yet again.

John and Fin help me stand on wobbling legs and get me back to the hospital room where Olivia and a nurse stand in the doorway, indignant looks on their faces. I haven't seen anyone annoyed at me like that since I was ten.


	12. Chapter 12

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**A/N: **Sorry if this is boring. I thought some exposition about the whole HIV thing was needed

* * *

**Monday, November 12****th**** 2007, 11:13am**

* * *

When I was escorted back to my room, Olivia's hair was sticking up in odd places and she was just a little annoyed. She said, "You should have woken me up." (Of course, if I had, she probably wouldn't have let me go.)

Hospitals are slow, just like bureaucracies, and I just want to get out now. Being here makes me feel antsy and trapped, especially since I am feeling better. I have been asking to be released since yesterday night, but I have cops, lawyers, and doctors conspiring against me. What's a girl to do with all that opposition? I guess that I just have to wait.

* * *

The infectious disease guy comes around 11 am. He is small and sort of geeky-looking… but I don't mean as in the stammering high school boy way, more like the smart as hell science guy way. Lab coat and glasses sure, but he has a nice smile.

"Ms. Novak, I'm Dr. Harold Clemente. It is nice to meet you, though under the circumstances I understand it you don't feel the same way." He gives me his hand to shake. I reluctantly take it.

"How many people have you said that to over the years?"

"Enough. Too many. But at least we can help some people avoid getting the virus, instead of treating it after the fact."

"Do you really think it works?"

He smiles, "Yes, in my opinion it does, though there isn't much empirical evidence to support that yet."

"Now, People accidentally or incidentally exposed to the AIDS virus are usually given a three-drug combination with AZT and 3TC included – the CDC says that this therapy should start no more than 72 hours after the exposure to the virus, and the drugs should be used for 28 days. You have already been started on treatment here in the hospital. I am going to give you drugs to take home with you and we can make an outpatient appointment for follow-up."

"I am going to prescribe you Combivir, which is a combination of AZT and 3TC – AZT and 3TC are in the same class of drugs. They interfere with an enzyme called reverse transcriptase which is used by HIV-infected cells to make new viruses – so less HIV infected cells are made."

"What else?"

"I am also going to prescribe a drug called Maraviroc. It is a CCR5-blocking entry inhibitor. That means it binds itself to a protein on the membrane healthy cells, and once it does that, HIV cannot successfully attach itself to the cells.

"The medications can have some very serious side effects. They are burning, tingling, or pain in the hands, arms, feet, or legs; have chills; have ear, nose, or throat problems; fever; muscle aches; nausea; pale skin; severe stomach pain; skin rash; unusual tiredness or weakness; vomiting; or yellow eyes or skin . If you have any symptoms like that you need to call me right away.

"There are other less serious side effects - cough; diarrhea; dizziness; headache; loss of appetite; mild stomach cramps or pain and trouble sleeping. You can call me if you are having real trouble with these side effects, but I would hesitate to take you off the medicine when you are only taking it for a month."

"You will have to take both these drugs twice a day, preferably with breakfast and dinner. I want you to call me if you have any serious or debilitating side effects."

He takes out a blackberry (or as some call it, a crackberry) and we schedule an appointment for next month. I will get blood drawn Friday, December 14th, at 5pm and there will be results by the following Monday. So a month from now, I'll either have HIV, or I won't. It's good to know that this little torture has an expiration date.


	13. Chapter 13

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**Monday, November 12****th**** 2007, 2:40pm**

* * *

I, Casey Novak am not seeing a shrink. I do not want, do not yet need, do not yet see the reason for, a shrink.

I am still trying to wrap my overused and just abused brain around the fact that I was raped. Fuck protocol. I know protocol – and I don't need to follow it. Not when I am on this side of the yellow tape.

I tell the doctors that I will check myself out AMA and that I'm not seeing a shrink before leaving. They counter by saying that they will hold me for 48 hours out of concern for my mental health (which they can do legally – damn mental hygiene laws). I say that I will get a lawyer and file an injunction.

But I realize that it will take longer for me to contest their decision, so I agree to meet the shrink. I lost the argument. My least favorite feeling; I wouldn't have become a lawyer if I liked losing.

* * *

And now I'm losing a pointless argument with Olivia about the same thing. She's sitting on the bed next to me, a foot away and a few inches behind me, listening to me whine.

"Can't I just have my feelings and keep them to myself for a little bit?"

"Casey," says Olivia, and she says it in that soft way she does when she is trying to snare some witness or another in her trap of kindness and compassion… "Casey, you have to speak to someone. You can't go through this alone."

"It's only been 72 hours! I'm still experiencing shock and denial. I don't have many feelings about any of this; or at least not any coherent ones.

"Besides, I know exactly what the shrink is going to say." I do my imitation of a flake: "'feel the feelings. It's all right to be angry. Accept what happened to you.' I've been on the other side of all those_ pathetic clichés _and I don't need to hear them again."

"Casey," Olivia says, "Clichés are clichés for a reason. I know that some of it sounds like crap when you hear it too much, but all of that stuff about accepting your feelings is true."

She smiles, just a little bit "And from the from the tone of your voice Casey, you aren't in denial. You're pissed."

I sigh and lean against her, like I have been doing so much lately. She wraps her arm around my waist. "I'm just tired. This is exhausting. Dealing is exhausting."

"I know Casey, I know." She runs her hands through my hair. It's good to be close to someone, physically close to someone can trust. I lay down next to her. Olivia has her arms on my shoulders. She picks up Dickens and starts to read it again, starting at the beginning…

"_It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way - in short, the period was so far like the present period …"_

How can a book written a century and a half ago have so much meaning today? I feel like there's just too much for me to feel; I don't know whether to be grateful or resentful, angry or relieved. I suppose that every life and every era is like that – you can't really know where you are; there's always a bundle of contradictions.

* * *

** Reviews are much appreciated. **


	14. Chapter 14

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**Monday, November 12****th**** 2007, 5:22pm**

* * *

I hate traditional psychodynamic therapy. You sit there and talk about your feelings. To what end? As if one hour of emoting is going to make me feel better about being raped, killing a man, and possibly getting AIDS.

The shrink is a woman. Annabelle Simes, MD, PhD. A well accredited woman. "Ms. Novak, do you mind if I call you Casey?"

"Call me what ever you want."

"Alright." She smiles that big phony shrink smile, then she starts launching torpedoes at my ego.

"How do you feel about Felix Lietnen having HIV?"

"I don't know. Scared I guess."

"Will you tell me about what happened?"

"No, No I won't. When I tell the story to someone it will be one of my friends, or a psychiatrist or therapist that I will see more than once. No offense, but that's not you."

"Casey, you sound angry."

I think about what Olivia said. "Yeah, I guess I am. Is that a problem?"

"No." She smiles again, damn her. "I would be surprised if you weren't angry at Mr. Lietnen for what he did to you."

"I never said that I was angry at him."

She cocks her head. "Then who are you angry at?"

"No one. And it doesn't matter. I just don't want you putting words into my mouth."

"Casey, I'm not here to judge you. I just want to help you whatever way I can."

"If you want to help me, distract me. Mets or Yankees?"

She smiles, "Yankees."

"Explain yourself."

She laughs, "Derek Jeter and Andy Pettitte are hot."

"So are Carlos Beltran and David Wright. Hot men are no excuse."

"So, what's wrong with the Yankees?"

I sigh, tired of explaining myself, "They're just too damn arrogant. They buy their wins. They stand in the spotlight too much without really deserving it."

"So, you like rooting for the underdog?"

I hesitate. She's trying to get into my head, and I don't like it but I still have fifty minutes on the clock and I can't keep silent that whole time. So I speak.

"Yeah, I like to help the little guy – or girl. My mother was a nurse, and my father was a construction worker who went to school at nights so he could get a job as a manager and support my brothers and me. I come from blue collar people, people who work hard to earn what they get in this life."

We go on to talk about my family, and the good doctor Simes subtly drops hints that she thinks I should use my "support network" to help me. And by that she means that I should tell my family what happened. She's right, and I know it. Somehow she got me to reveal more of myself than I intended to. The only things I wouldn't speak about were my mother's death and Charlie.

Time goes faster than I thought it would. She says, "Our hour is up, and I can clear you medically. I am confident that you will recover from this – you are obviously a very resilient woman."

Her look becomes more serious. "But sooner or later you will have to deal with being raped. It's a fact, and you can't change it. And if you test HIV positive you will need to follow a regimen of drugs and follow up with doctors – you can't do that if you are in denial. I want you to see a rape crisis counselor, therapist, or psychologist – anyone who you think can help you with this. There are also support groups too. You just need to find some supports within your life."

She pulls out some pamphlets for the rape crisis center and a support group. I take them, even though I already have the number for the rape crisis center from work. What harm can it do?

* * *

Alright, that is not as bad as I thought it would be.

Adria and Olivia come back in. The cops come and go and I stay here. Bored as hell. It's just too much time to think, so I listen to music, read Dickens and the news, and convince an office aid to bring me some work (the rest of them at the DA's office is conspiring to keep it from me).

At nine, Olivia places a moratorium on work and books. I can't really argue with a woman with a gun. So we stay up chatting and I talk to her about how I feel during all this. She isn't acting so much like a cop now, just a friend – just what I need at the moment.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: **This one isn't perfect yet…but I have been asked for another chapter so I heed your call. Just know that my grammar and spelling may be flawed a bit. Also I'm a review whore. The amount of writing I do is directly correlated with the number of reviews I receive.

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**Tuesday, November 13****th**** 2007, 10:34am**

* * *

They are finally checking me out of the hospital. Olivia is going to drive me to her apartment, though we are stopping at the precinct along the way for her to pick up some files. And since I asked to have all of the details on Lietnen, she promised that Warner and Huang would be there. I also have to read over the transcript of my interview and sign an affidavit saying that it is the truth.

It is a cold morning, so to my great relief Olivia brings me a warm shirt, sweater, my coat, hat, and mittens. Bundled up I go through the usual hospital annoyance; I speak with a woman from accounting and make sure that they have all of my information – health insurance and all. Adria stays and helps me fill out forms while Olivia gets the car from the precinct.

They won't let me walk out on my own two feet, so I am stuck with a wheelchair. Getting in the car I can't help but realize that I look like a total bum, but it doesn't really matter – in New York you can get away with anything.

Olivia has the car pulled up in front of the hospital. We ride to the precinct in silence mostly. We've probably spoken more in the past three days than we have in the past three months. We've definitely communicated more. I'm looking at the city streets, as we drive west and downtown. It's more windy than cold today, but in New York, wind is worse. The streets seem to suck all wind off the water into them.

* * *

Melinda is at the station house, as is George. They are here, in part, to talk to me about Lietnen. They are not supposed to be doing this, but I need and appreciate their help. I just need to know _why_? Why me, and why him? On one level, I know that the answers they give me won't really answer my questions, but at least it's a start.

This is unofficial. We sit around the bullpen, and their eyes are turned to me. I said I wanted to know everything, and I do.

When I look at Melinda she shrugs, "I'm sorry Casey, but there's not too much to tell. He was born in March 5rd, 1980. He was 6 feet, and weighed two hundred pounds. He was reported dead by officers on the scene at 12:24 am. November 10th. The first bullet went through his right lung; the second hit the dead center of his heart. I declared cause of death immediate cardiac arrest caused by the bullet. His death was relatively painless." She frowns, and hands me an autopsy photo. "He deserved worse."

In the photo he looks waxy and blue. There are scratches (mine) on his face and chest, teeth marks where I bit his dick, and there are two bullet holes in his chest, one to the left side, and one a little lower and farther right. He doesn't have blood on him anymore. I can see some of the legions on him that people with AIDs get. I wonder if I will have those, ten, five, or two years from now.

I hand back the photo and I turn to George, "You said you would explain him to me." I want to know, because I may have been a psychology minor, but criminals like Lietnen still baffle me.

George nods, "Casey, Lietnen never had any regard for the rights of others. He had all the signs of antisocial personality disorder. He was physically abused and neglected by his mother and sexually abused in foster care by a guardian, which could explain his hatred towards women evidenced by the names that he called you and other women he abused.

"However, he did not display signs of psychosexual sadism until after he was sodomized in prison a year ago and indoctrinated by Ocheret. I spoke with the prison psychologist. After testing HIV positive being diagnosed with AIDs Lietnen didn't care about anything; he was very angry and violent, and because he believed that he would not live long he had no incentive not to offend. But he wasn't a leader, he wouldn't have done this without Ocheret's guidance."

"Would you testify to that?"

"Yes," he nods.

Elliot says, "Casey, where are you going with this?"

As I stare into space, I feel like I'm hearing their voices from a distance. It's possible that I could sue the state and its penal system for housing two violent sex offenders together, but that would be pointless. Still, I plan to talk to Branch later about Ocheret. I want legislation that will prevent this sort of thing from happening again. Sex predators should not be able to share trade secrets in prison – they should make sure to that in the future.

After a moment of blissful emptiness then I am tugged back to reality. I close my eyes, but somehow I can't keep tears from springing up. I speak and my voice cracks, but I hold it steady. "I want you to treat this like a real case, like you would if Lietnen were alive. I'm going to speak to the DA. At the very least we can get Ocheret on facilitation and as an accessory to rape."

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Fin says.

"Yes. Positive. Ocheret should die in prison. If I can tack a few years onto his sentence that has a better chance of happening." A thought occurs to me and I laugh bitterly, "You know – if I get HIV, and if we can prove intent, we can get Ocheret on attempted murder. And if I die before him…" I shrug.

They are all looking at me like I'm mentally unstable, and maybe I am, but I know the law.

Cragen speaks, "Casey, you might want know that I went looking for Lietnen's next of kin yesterday. But he grew up in foster care. His mother overdosed on heroin when he was six and he doesn't have any other family. He will be put in a mass grave in Potter's Field."

I wince, because there's a terrible irony in that. His mother died when he was six, like mine. And he was twenty-eight. I'm twenty-nine, and my birthday is in October. Our mothers were probably interred the same year, 1985. How could I share something like that with someone who raped me?

I'm looking at the world from far away. Shock I suppose. That same feeling of having a bird's eye view while my feet are stuck to the ground. Because I was raped? No, not just that, it's because I killed my rapist. Killed, as in he's dead; he won't breathe, won't think, and won't feel ever again. He was human being. A horrible human being, but one none the less.

That night that seems like a million years and one second ago. I still have questions – so many numbing questions from that night are still floating in my head, but at least some of them are partly answered. I think of the questions about _him_ that I've been asking myself since Friday night.

Did he have a mother who loved him? Not really.

Did he deserve to die? Maybe.

Am I going to die? Not for a while, at least.

The truth is that I don't really have any answers at all.

* * *

Olivia said that she could get me whatever I wanted from my apartment without me having to go in, but I needed to see it. There is yellow tape on the door. Inside my apartment there are bloodstains everywhere. Mostly in the kitchen, but the cops must have tracked some into the living and bedroom area right after they responded. There are a few evidence markers and plastic bags. Some of my drawers are open. I stare for a moment, and yet again I find tears slipping down my cheeks. I stand there until Olivia gently grips my shoulders and pulls me away.

We skirt the kitchen area and walk to the back where my two wardrobes are (my apartment did not come with closets). I take out two business suits (in case I need to go to the office), and all of the comfortable clothes that I own. I get some toiletries, a two pairs of shoes, and some winter clothes. I throw it all in a large duffle bag, and Olivia insists on taking it as we leave, and again she has to physically pull me away from the scene of the crime (or whatever it was).

She drives me to her home in Hell's Kitchen. She parks it (in a place that would be illegal if it wasn't a police car). Normally she couldn't keep it, but she informs me that today she is "working" – it seems funny that she is being paid for looking after me. I guess they think I need a babysitter. Go figure.

When we get to her apartment I sack out on her couch. I have discovered that crying is extremely tiring, but at least with Olivia here I feel safe enough to rest.


	16. Chapter 16

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**Tuesday, November 13****th****, 2007, 3:00pm**

* * *

Ah, the joys of daytime television. I am watching an Oprah, and it is making me cry, but in a good way for once. There is a woman who gives pajamas to under privileged children who don't know what nightclothes are, and there is a CEO who gave up his life to build schools and give books to children in third world countries.

Olivia and I both slept for a while; she's been on six cases in the last two weeks, and now with what happened to me we're both beat. Now she is insisting on cleaning and having a late lunch.

Olivia is moving around her usually vacant apartment, straightening things out, dusting, vacuuming, and inflating and making up an air mattress – it is as high as a bed, and almost as comfortable. I refuse to take her bed; I appreciate the hospitality, but I will not usurp her.

"You know, there's probably no point in making that air bed up – I doubt I'll sleep anyways."

She puts the bed in a corner, a few feet away from her own. And we talk while she does all of this tidying up. "You know, I remember after I was stalked by this suspect I couldn't sleep unless my back was to the wall. I had to move all my furniture. Being attacked is bound to make you a bit paranoid, but you will sleep sooner or later."

"Ha, I've slept enough in the last few days to last me weeks. You know, I could help you clean." (this is the fifth time I've offered)

She stands to face me and puts her hands on her hips, "Casey, for the last time, _no_. you're recovering. I'm not going to be responsible for you ripping out your stitches." She goes back to cleaning.

Olivia feeds my many flowers with water (three vases full – from cops, judges, and ADAs), then she places in them around the apartment. The smell is wonderful, though the lilies are a little overpowering.

Her apartment, like mine, is a studio. Unlike mine her bathtub is in the kitchen. Some old New York apartments are like that. Her apartment is a sort of charming loft – much nicer that my shoe-box apartment with tiny windows.

"You know, this show is very moving and very cathartic." I'm speaking about Oprah.

"That's good," she says in a monotone.

"You're too god-damned desensitized, you know that."

She sighs, 'Yeah Casey, I really am."

Suddenly I feel guilty. "Sorry. I didn't mean that."

She smiles, "It's ok, and it's the truth. Now you have a few choices for lunch. Ramen, frozen meals, including Healthy Choice and Lean Cuisine, or canned soup, Progresso and Campbell's. And I have canned tuna and chicken."

I grin, "So basically, all the non-perishable, microwaveable food there is."

"Yep, I could survive a nuclear holocaust. And I can't cook. Now choose. You are going to eat."

"You do realize that I might just end up praying to the porcelain god anyways?" (Part of the reason that I am laying on the couch is that I can't stand up without feeling like puking).

She sighs, "I know. Elliot was exposed once to HIV and he had to take that crap. But you need to stay strong – you can't avoid eating for a month."

"Alright. You know, I can make grilled cheese sandwiches to go with tomato soup."

Olivia dons a coat and bustles out of the apartment before I can protest. She comes back fifteen minutes later with greasy organic peanut butter, whole grain bread, whole grain pasta, soy milk, and organic Cheetar cheese.

When she opens the door and comes in I stand up and go to the kitchen to help, ripping stitches and nausea be damned. After I look at her selection I say, "Those vegans you met in Oregon brainwashed you."

"Well, the whole terrorism thing is a bit over the top, but once you acquire the taste for healthy food there's no going back to wonder bread."

"Then why do you have Ramen?"

Olivia smirks, "That ramen is from 1999. You know that when I went to Oregon the feds cleared everything out of my old apartment and sold the apartment for my cover. They threw all of my stuff in storage – ramen included. When I came back they set me up here and even bought me some new furniture."

"You think they could do that for me? This place is nicer than anything I've seen people get on our salaries."

"I doubt it, but I can try."

"Dean Porter?" I guess. And apparently I'm right. Olivia just has this little smile I've never seen her with before. Like she has something special, something that could be more than momentary happiness. "You're dating him aren't you?"

"Well…sort of. We meet for coffee…"

I snort, "And sex?" She blushes. The tenacious Olivia Benson blushes. Then she changes the subject, and for now I won't tease her.

I sit on a stool by the kitchen counter and make the grilled cheese sandwiches in a pan. None of those stupid grilling machines for me. Olivia puts on a pot of tomato soup and I stir it once in a while. John buzzes and Olivia lets him up.

John pokes his head in the door and smells the cooking. "Who knew that out resident lawyer was a master chef?" he says incredulously.

"Hey! I can make eggs of any kind, risotto and spaetzle. Plus stew and goulash. I can steam, sauté or bake anything, and make bread. I can season and bake or broil chicken or fish very well."

(That is the absolute extent of my culinary abilities)

John says, "None of my previous wives could cook that well. Maybe I should marry you."

I smirk. "Only in your dreams John."

"None of them were as smart as you either." I blush.

"Flatterer."

"How do you think he got four wives?" Olivia smiles.

John strikes a pose, "I'm offended, Olivia. What about my stunning looks?"

She rolls her eyes, "Those too."

I speak, "So what are you doing in the neighborhood John?"

"Ah well, I was following up a lead on the Lopez case uptown, and as I finished an interview with a particularly nasty piece of scum I thought, in day full of murder and mayhem a man could use a rest. So I decided to take a few minutes to spend time you stunning ladies."

We all know that he came here to check on me, but he did a fairly good job disguising it – and amusing me, so I have to forgive him. I put another sandwich on the grill and smile, "All right John, you can stay for lunch if you want. See, I'm making you a sandwich."

Olivia interjects her two cents. "You know John, I appreciate the compliments, but you should know that if you ever refer to me as a 'lady' on the job I'll spike your coffee with sleeping pills."

"Ouch, Olivia, that's harsh."

"You'd better believe it."

I know that half of this banter is a play put on for my benefit, and I'm sort of enjoying it. But while I listen to their conversation my mind is also occupied with purely physical things. The hiss of the teapot, and then the smell of caffeine free mint tea coming from my mug as Olivia pours me a cup. The aroma of the tomato soup and our cheese sandwiches as John takes them off the stove and carries them to the table. The taste when things cool off and I slowly nibble at my food, trying not to get sick.

I am here, but another part of me is drifting, circling the events of the past few days, and even the past few years. I'm trying to make sense of it all from the distance provided by this warm and cozy apartment.

I am not usually one for mulling and self-reflection, but this isn't usual. I was raped. I could have HIV. I've been beaten up and I've seen a lot of human evil. Charlie died, but he was dead to me before, in a way. I'm just not sure who I am anymore.

We are so grounded in childhood – to our parents, homes, and communities. And slowly that is torn away from us as we grow up. But when something is wrenched from your grasp with a sudden sharp tug, it leaves you torn open and bleeding. I guess that's where I stand right now. I just hope I have the courage to salve my wounds and move forward.


	17. Chapter 17

**Tuesday, November 13****th,**** 2007, 9:22pm**

* * *

John left, and he took the car with him to save Olivia the trip back to the precinct. After he was gone I took a long shower, and sat at Olivia's window looking out at the city lights. Dickens is in my lap and I thumb through it in the dim light of the apartment. The book falls open to the third chapter, _the Night Shadows_:

"_It is a wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other. A solemn consideration, when I enter a great city by night, that everyone of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every room in every one of them encloses it's own secret; that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it…"_

Yes, we all have secrets. Even if you're the most honest person in the world, there are things you can't tell anyone because you don't know how, or because it would just hurt them too much. Or you'd hurt yourself too much…

I stare out at those unknown lights… How many victims are out there, and how many predators?

... ... ... ...

Olivia puts her hand on my shoulder and knocks me out of my brooding mood. "A penny for your thoughts."

"Just a penny?" I smirk, "I went to law school you know. I should get at least a few dollars. I could be billing a few hundred an hour."

"A few dollars then. I'm a cop – I can't afford few hundred. What's up?"

I smile a little when I think of the irony of what Olivia's doing for me. When I was in the hospital she told me that she's taking a week off of work (probably the longest vacation that she's had in years) to stay with me.

"Olivia, you realize that you work twenty-four seven with rape victims, and now you are taking a week out of your very limited vacation time to help a rape victim. Doesn't that sound a bit crazy to you?"

"Well, I guess I'm just nuts Casey. What can I say? You're my friend."

"Am I?" I stare at the window; I don't look at her face, because I don't want to see the hurt that might be there. "I'm… I'm not really sure of anything anymore… things have just been so weird this past year with all of us. I was such a bitch to you last spring. When you came back I was glad you were here, but with Charlie dying… I just didn't know what to do."

I glance at her for a moment, and I see her face soften. She squeezes my shoulder. "You know, it's ok Case… A lot happened to all of us. I'm not always certain where I stand either. With you and everyone – but especially Elliot. When I came back and saw Dani at my desk I was pissed at hell at Elliot. He accused me of walking away… but before that he said that we couldn't be partners anymore if… if we cared too much about each other. Then he gets Dani as a partner, and I just know that there was something between them – then my apartment was broken into." She sighs, "There's too much insanity in our lives."

"Huh. Sometimes I think that you and Elliot are like a married couple."

"God. Don't say that. He's married. I'm married to the job. We'd be polygamists." She shrugs, "Besides, I would never let myself fall for a coworker. Elliot is a good man and one of my closest friends, and that's all, that's enough."

"You've been through a lot together – ten years, right? And you quarrel."

She shrugs, "We've sort of made up now. I know him, almost too well I think – our partnership is the longest relationship I've ever had. He shuts people out. But he can't shut me out, because I see the same things he sees. In our version of a crazy day at the office terrible things can happen – we get guns pointed at us, we see horrible things, people can die."

People die. I think of the neo-Nazi trial, of Gabriel Duvall and Milan Zergin, of Charlie, and of Lietnen. Then I speak softly, my voice choked with tears. "I'm tired Olivia. It's just so much. It takes a part of me, each case takes a part, and at the end of the day I just feel so drained" She sits down next to me.

"I said something like that to Elliot once… and he told me that the difference between me and the victims was that I could walk away. You can walk away. No one will think less of you for it."

"But I _am_ a victim now Olivia."

"You aren't. You killed him. You still have to deal with what he did to you, but you can walk away from prosecuting sex crimes. Leave the job if that's what you need. He's dead Casey, he can't hurt you anymore."

"He's dead, but I'm still afraid of him." It's hard to admit that to her. But I am afraid. In the hospital I felt protected, but standing out on the city streets again I felt so vulnerable, so small.

She hugs me and whispers, "It'll get better sweetie. Just give it time."

"Nothing is getting better. Nothing ever has. My boyfriend became schizophrenic eight years ago and hit me five years ago. He died six months ago. I was beaten half to death, by the brother of a victim three and a half years ago. I had a gun put to my head two years ago. And four days ago I was raped." I can't keep the gloom our of my voice. "I'm damaged goods now."

"So am I Casey."

"Because of your mother? Your job?"

"Those and…other things. I'll tell you all about it one day." She pauses. "Casey, everyone on our unit has their problems – hell, everyone in the world has their own problems, their own baggage – and when you work with the people and issues we work with a lot of personal stuff comes out." She smiles sardonically, "You know, after all these years normal, undamaged people get on my nerves. Now you're one of us."

Her tone becomes more serious, "On a scale of one to ten, neither of us are past five. Think of the people we see on the job. Rapists. Pedophiles. They're the damaged ones. The whole world is damaged, at least a little. We all have things to overcome and we just deal the best we can." It is quiet for a moment.

"Olivia, why didn't you walk away?"

"What?"

"You said that Elliot told you that you could walk away. But you didn't – you stayed – and now you've been working sex crimes for ten years. Why?"

"That's part of my baggage Casey, and I won't trouble you with that now."

I wonder. I wonder what she won't tell me, but I know that we all have our secrets, and I won't make her give up hers.

"How do you do it? Deal with it all year after year I mean?"

She is quiet for a moment. "There's a balance. You have to take time for yourself, you have to find some meaning in your life outside of the job. It took me years to figure that out, and it's still really hard to put into practice."

"How do you?"

She sighs, "Well, I talk to someone when I need to vent or deal with things. A psychologist. I try to make it to martial arts classes twice a week. I run a few miles every day when I can. I eat healthy, and I don't drink coffee anymore."

"Nuts. You're absolutely nuts." She smiles at my insistence.

"Maybe, maybe. And maybe you have a serious caffeine addiction."

"Addicted and proud of it." I yawn and she looks at her watch.

"It's almost ten. I'm tired, and so are you. Time for bed."

"Maybe I just need my coffee."

"Sleep. Now."

"Yes, mother," I say sarcastically.

Olivia rolls her eyes and groans.

I shrug, "I don't think I'm gonna be able to sleep. I feel kinda hyper." This is a half lie. My body is tired. My mind is wired. I am afraid to lie in darkness.

"You'll sleep," She gets up and walks across the apartment to the stove where she puts another tea pot on the burner. I go into her little WC (you can't really call it a bathroom because there isn't a bath or shower in there) and I brush my teeth, splash my face with water, and sit at the kitchen table. In a minute Olivia puts a cup of steaming Chamomile tea in front of me.

"So now you're drugging me," I say flatly.

"It's not a drug. It won't make you groggy or have any side effects."

I shrug, "okay," and I take a small sip of the steaming liquid. It's not that bad.

"Casey, did they give you anything at the hospital? Taking drugs isn't such a bad idea sometimes."

"No – I mean yeah, they gave me some stuff - Lorazapam. But I won't take anything unless I absolutely have to."

"Okay." We sit for a few more minutes and I finish my tea. We turn of the lights and go to bed. Lying in the dark I think of my upbringing. At night my thoughts always seem to drift to the past and morality and religion – things I don't think of during the day.

My family is very religious. And even if I am ambivalent now I can't erase where I came from: years of bible study, confirmation, my first time taking communion in a white dress, singing in choir, and midnight mass at Christmas. All that is a part of who I am. It matters to me. Because if there is a God and a heaven, my mother will be there, waiting for me, looking down on me. And I want to be with her in the end.

I whisper in the dark, "Olivia?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think a priest will absolve me for what I've done?"

"Oh." She sounds surprised. "I forgot you're Catholic... you know, that's not really my territory. I know that you are not ethically or legally responsible for killing him, so why should be responsible to your higher power? And, if you're going to hell, Elliot definitely is." She says this jokingly and I have to smile. God only knows how many times he's sinned. And he's still a good man, if a troubled one.

I lay there in the dark for long minutes, consciously and carefully thinking of anything other than Friday night. In those moments between sleeping and waking you have to surrender, to drift, and each time I do thoughts of him come to me and I wake up suddenly. After what is at least an hour I finally drift off into that abstract landscape of sleep without him following me there…


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: **Sorry this chapter is so short. I was unsure about whether I should post this chapter or not. It is really graphic and possibly really offensive. However, I wanted to accurately depict how the trauma of being raped affects someone. I hope I got it right, and I'm sorry for whatever disservice I might do to people who have been through this if I get it wrong. Anyways, I guess I have to change the rating to mature now… but just in case:

**WARNING: YOU MAY THINK THAT THIS CHAPTER IS DISTURBING/OFFENSIVE **

**Wednesday, November 14****th,**** 2007, around 5am**

Every few hours I woke up crying and sweating, and feeling terrible things. Things I didn't want to feel. Things I don't want to say. I woke Olivia up a few times, but half of the time I just lay there in the dark and tried not to cry. In my sleep and felt the sickness and pain of it all over again. Why do I feel things I don't want to feel? Something pleasurable shouldn't be able to be turned so wrong and sick, something that you are forced to feel.

I wake up around five sweating and feeling filthy. I slip into the shower without waking up Olivia, miraculously, because I imagine that she sleeps like a... well, like a paranoid cop, especially since all that's happened – to her and the people she loves.

I move to the shower very carefully, because when the cuts on my thighs rub together it hurts like hell, and my broken wrist and the cuts on my breasts and head are tender. I take the cast off my arm (it's the removable kind) and I turn the water on till it's hot, as hot as I can stand now. I slip into it, and the hot water burns, but I sit under the spray. It hurts, but in a good way.

I feel so disgusting. I'm the freak now. Some part of me must have gotten off on what Lietnen did to me. There was one thing I left out of my statement: I was aroused the first time he raped me, before he did it with a knife. I was crying and choking through the gag that he put on me, but he was touching me, he was inside me and he made me feel things. But it wasn't what I wanted. It was degrading and humiliating. It was my fucking body, this pathetic weak thing that won't listen to me.

It made him angry that I – my body – did that. _"Are you enjoying this bitch? I'll make you fucking love it you cunt!"_ Then he started to hurt me with a knife. If that hadn't happened would he have raped me with the knife? A part of me keeps saying that it was my fault; my fault that he did what he did.

I know that this happens – I've spoken to women who have gone through it. But it was never me. I could sympathize, I could give them a hand and a shoulder to cry on. Sometimes I could even give them justice or peace of mind. But I couldn't understand, not really.

Like I said, Olivia's shower is in her kitchen, so being completely quiet is not an option. She wakes up and walks over. I am crying, but silently, so she can't tell. "Casey do you need anything?"

"No, just go back to sleep. Sorry I bothered you."

"It's fine hon, just wake me up if you need something." The fact that she doesn't bug me is a sign of just how tired she is. She falls back asleep. I stay in the shower. Oddly I enjoy the painful sting of the hot water – it makes me feel clean.


	19. Chapter 19

* * *

**Wednesday, November 14****th,**** 2007, around 7am**

* * *

After taking a shower I try to sleep, but I give up after a while. I turn on NPR, keeping the volume low so Olivia can sleep. When I was a kid my parents would always turn on the news in the mornings. And now the clear solid voices pouring out from white noise take me back to that time; I may feel sick and miserable, but for a moment I remember being a child, save and loved in my father's arms as I hugged him goodbye before he went to work.

* * *

"Casey?" Olivia wakes up seven on the dot, and finds me curled up on the couch, staring off into space.

"Hey." I stretch out on the couch and try to feign a smile. Olivia smiles sympathetically.

"Did you sleep enough?" she asks. I shrug in response. "So, what do you want to do today?"

"Nothing that involves physical exertion."

"Want to watch some movies? There's a rental store nearby."

"Okay. Food?"

"There's a bagel store too. What do you want?"

I shrug. "I like blueberry bagels. Or whole wheat. Or cinnamon. Whatever."

"And for movies?"

"Something classic. Not suspense or horror. Not too serious or silly."

She smiles. "Got it. You ok here?"

"Yeah."

Olivia leaves and I take a deep breath. I realize I'm relieved to be alone for a moment or two. This is only the second or third time I've been alone since I was raped – and I suppose I might be anxious if Olivia was going to be gone for a long time or at night, but I know that she's just going to be gone for just a bit and somehow being with anyone now feels like pretense, like I have to pretend I'm dealing with it, or ok, and I'm really not sure what I feel at all…

Olivia put the New York Times on the counter. I spread it out on the kitchen table and read like I usually do when I have the time. Which is never. Because I, Casey Novak, am a busy prosecutor.

Am? Was? Will be? I laugh. At myself, I think. Who was I then and what am I now?

* * *

About thirty minutes and five news articles later Olivia comes back with bag full of bagels, no coffee and some old movies. I rifle through the movies as she sets the stuff down. Casa Blanca, Sixteen Candles, and The Maltese Falcon. Romance, drama, and mystery; all classics.

I pull out a cinnamon bagel and smear it with cream cheese. I am hungry despite the nausea, and bagels seem like a pretty safe option.

"So, do you want to watch the movies now?"

"Nah, I'd rather read the paper for a while. Sorry that I'm such boring company."

She smiles, "I've had worse company and even worse hosts. Once I had to camp out on Munch's couch."

I smile. "What's his apartment like?"

"Better than you'd think. His furniture is obviously cheap, but so is every other cops' – it's not like we have cash to burn. Of course, there's a picture of JFK, but he also has some prints by Andy Warhol and other modern art. Half of his walls are covered with bookshelves; he could start a library. And believe it or not, he plays guitar and piano."

"We'll have to get him to play for us someday."

"Good luck with that. John is sort of shy in his own way. You get him going on some idea about politics or philosophy and he'll never stop, but he let people in, and he doesn't say much about himself… unless he's making a self-deprecating quip about his ex-wives."

* * *

It is 9:15 and we're sitting in her kitchen reading the New York Times and drinking _tea_. Yes, Casey Novak is drinking herbal tea. Because Olivia won't let her have coffee and she's too tired to fight. And it probably doesn't matter because I am the kind of tired that caffeine does not touch, the kind of tired that sinks into the bones and will not be lodged out.

I take a sip of my weak, tepid beverage. "You realize, it's been four days since I had any coffee. I'm going into withdrawal." Give me my coffee and I will feel like a new woman. I will feel energetic and focused. And maybe, just maybe, It'll wake me up and this will all just be what it feels like: a bizarre horrible nightmare.

"you're better off without that stuff." I sigh. No, this is not a nightmare. I cannot wake up.

"Don't care."

"Well if you want to go out and buy some. The bagel store is two blocks west on the north side of the street."

Ha. she knows I won't go. I know I won't go. I don't want to go outside right now despite the beautiful fall weather, because I look like crap, because I am afraid, because I'm too tired.

But I still want to pretend that things are normal , to drink my goddamned coffee like it's any other day. Olivia wants me to admit that things are not normal, but she wants to act like things are normal, because she wants them to not get any less normal. If that makes any sense. Oh wait, it doesn't.

_Casey stop being an idiot_, the little voice in my head tells me. No I'm not insane. I am perfectly fine. I am normal.

Wait. I was just raped. Which would seem to preclude normal. Of course, one in every four women are raped, and one in every ten men are raped. And if twenty-five of fifty percent of the population has been raped then that is twelve point five percent. And if ten percent men are raped then that's five percent. So in total, seventeen point five percent of people are not normal if rape victims are not normal.

And wouldn't seventeen percent of people having experienced something make that something normal? And if that is true than rape is normal. And supposedly twenty-five percent of people have some mental illness, so that's normal. And there must be a lot of people with horrible or chronic or terminal illnesses so they might be normal. But all of this stuff is not normal.

And if normal is not based on percentage than in must be based on some standard I cannot quantify. And if that is the case the majority of people are not normal. And if the majority of us are not normal than what the fuck is normal? So perhaps the question is not what is normal or not normal, but what is healthy and what is pathological.

And thinking like this is definitely not healthy. The little voice in my head agrees. It says, _Shut up._ _Please just shut up. Read the goddamn paper, all that stuff about world events, the election, and the cool stuff in the science times – read that and stop thinking about normal._

So I read.

And then my phone rings. I ignore it. Five minutes later it rings again. My ring tone is a horrible chirping sound. Olivia asks, "Are you going to answer that?"

"No." I go back to reading the paper. Fifteen minutes later the phone rings again.

"Casey, the only way to make the little ringing sound go away is to pick up the phone and press the green button to answer or the red turn it off." I look at the caller ID. It's Eamon, my oldest brother. Shit. I sigh, and pick up the phone. Time to start dealing with my family.

"_Casey. What happened?"_ I freeze for a moment, wondering how he could know about the rape. Was it on the news? Did the police call him? I told them not to talk to my family. _"Casey? You there?" _

"What do you mean? Nothing happened. Everything's fine." Great Casey, way to play dumb. So much for lawyers being good liars.

Olivia has put down her section of the paper and is looking a me with raised eyebrows and one of the many patented Benson looks. It's like she's saying, 'I'm not judging, because I don't judge, but we both know that you're acting like an idiot.' Only Olivia could manage to say that much with one expression.

"_We were supposed to have lunch yesterday, remember? It's not like you to forget. What's the matter?"_ Oh shit, shit, shit. I should have remembered; I should have called to cancel. Eamon is in town for a few days because of his work. I was supposed to find him downtown and take him to lunch.

"E… I'm alright, okay. You don't have to worry. It's just…I…" I'm about to cry and I have no idea what to say to him.

"_Oh Casey."_ Somehow he knows. He's my big brother, and I can't lie properly when I'm speaking to him. Eamon knows me, and what's more, he knows that if he wants to get a straight answer out of me he has to answer simple, direct questions_. "What happened?"_

"I… I was attacked. I'm alright. I needed a few stitches."

"_How many is a few?"_

"I don't know," I sigh. God, I might as well tell him what I look like. Eventually I'll have to deal with him in person. "I hurt my head… and… uh my arm… but I mean…"

What I want to say to Eamon is that it's not as bad as last time – not as bad as when Milan Zergin attacked me. I mean, my injuries don't look as bad… I don't have a limp this time and my face isn't black and blue. After Zergin attacked me it was a month before anyone could look at my face without wincing. _I _ couldn't look at my face without wincing. _Visibly,_ this is much better. It's better until you consider the small fact that I was raped and I'm probably going to get HIV.

Eamon cuts in before I can find an appropriate way to evade his question. _"When were you attacked?"_

"Friday night."

"_Where were you?"_

"My apartment – look Eamon, I'm fine. You don't need to worry."

"_Of course I do Casey. I'm coming to see you."_ The way he speaks I can't argue. "_Where are you now?"_

"Detective Benson's apartment." Eamon met her after Zergin attacked me, so he knows who I'm talking about. He and dad came down from Boston to see me. God, I hated the looks on their faces – their love and pity, their sadness – it made me feel ten times worse than my physical injuries did. I can't do this – I can't let Eamon see me like this. "Um – look E, you don't need to see me, everything is alright. Please. Please just leave it." My voice comes out a whisper; I'm practically begging my brother to stay away from me.

"_Casey."_ His voice is gentle but firm. _"Let me talk to Detective Benson."_ My hands are shaking, but I hand Olivia my phone. She takes it, and I hear Eamon asking her for directions and she gives them to him. She tells him to get a cab or take the A or C train uptown and gives him her address. He thanks her.

"Wait." I grab the phone back from Olivia before he can hang-up. I cry into the phone, "Eamon promise me, promise that you won't tell Dad. Or anyone. I don't want anyone to know."

"_Shh, Case. I won't talk to anyone else until after we speak. Okay?" _

"Okay." I hang up, and I'm shaking furiously. I didn't even think about how or when I would tell my family about this; it seemed distant and undefined – but now it's here, or almost, and I don't know what to do. Olivia moves to the couch, where I am in the process of hyperventilating.

She sits next to me and puts clasps my hands in hers. Her presence steadies me. "It'll be alright Case."

I snort, "No it won't. How can I look my brother in the eye and tell him that I was raped?" Tears are running down my cheeks.

"Casey, if you want I can tell him. You don't have to say anything if you don't want to. "

"No – I mean I don't want him to know. I don't want to do that to him – to my family again. I'm tired of hurting them."

Olivia bites her lip. After a moment she speaks. "It's your choice how to deal with this Casey. If you want to lie to your brother, I won't stop you. But I don't think that that will do you or anyone else any good in the long run. I can explain things to Eamon; if you want I can call Elliot and he can help too. No one expects you to do this alone, but it's your choice."

I shrug. No, it's not my choice. I could never lie to one of my brothers – I could try, but I know it wouldn't work. The thing is, I can't tell the truth either. A rock and a hard place. Well, I never really understood that expression, but you catch my drift.

I look down. "Olivia, I'm not gonna lie – but Eamon doesn't need to know all the details – I mean I have to tell him about… about being raped and HIV… but the stuff with the knife… the names he called me, and Ocheret. Eamon doesn't need to hear that. Not now at least. I'll tell him if I get HIV, but if I tell him now he'll just obsess."

* * *

Eamon buzzes and Olivia lets him in the building. She opens the door before he can knock. He looks over her shoulder to see me and says, "Oh, Casey." I glance at his eyes. He's really worried. Before he can rush to me Olivia touches his shoulder and pulls him aside. "What actually happened?" he asks.

"That's not for me to say. Just – just be gentle," she says. Eamon comes over to me quietly and sits down next to me, a few inches away.

I sit hunched over and I can't look him in the eyes. At the moment a smudge of dust on the carpet in front of me is the all that I can see. The world has expanded to the point where looking at anything larger than an inch in diameter is impossible.

From the corner of my eye I see his grey business suit and his shiny black shoes, but I can't for the life of me look up to his face. "Casey." He touches my arm. I flinch. "Shh – It's alright." He puts his arm on my lower back and two fingers under my chin and gently lifts my head so I am forced to meet his eyes. I try to pull away but he won't let me. "Casey, were you raped?" I make the slightest of nods. I feel like the room is spinning a little. Suddenly, he pulls me closer.

Physically Eamon is so much like my father. I'm not short, but they both dwarf me at 6'1". They are both broad, strong men. His strong arms engulf me and I sit in his lap like a little girl and I sob. It feels safe inside his arms. I never want to let go.

* * *

**A/N:** Please review!


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N:** ah, eavesdropping, the only way to write about what someone thinks about your main character while writing in the first person… perhaps I'm overdoing it, but it's one of those useful little literary tools. Well, at least I'm not writing in second person. Now that's hard.

there are footnotes in this... if you're wondering what the little numbers are for.

Also, I am trying to get a lot of chapters up before the fall semester starts, so I wrote this in a day. So sorry if it's not as edited as it should be. And if anyone knows a really good beta… pm me.

* * *

**Wednesday, November 14****th,**** 2007, around 12pm**

* * *

I am lying on the couch with my head on Eamon's lap, and he is stroking my hair the same way my dad would when I was a little girl. I must have dozed off for a few minutes, but now I'm awake with a terrible headache and swollen eyes. Eamon and Olivia must think that I'm down for the count, because I can hear them speaking softly about me.

"She looks so tired. I've never seen Casey cry like that, not even when she was a little kid."

"Well, she's been through a lot in the last few days."

"Please tell me what happened. I know that Casey probably doesn't want me to hear all of it, but I need to know." His voice rises in anger, "Did you get the guy?"

"He's dead." Olivia sighs, "Casey was assaulted near midnight on Friday. She defended herself and killed the man who raped her. She has a minor concussion, a hairline fracture on her wrist, and some cuts and bruises. She was released from the hospital yesterday morning. If you want to know more than that you have to ask Casey."

"Is she ok? I mean aside from the physical… I know that if I ask she'll say she's '_fine_' but…"

"She's having a hard time, but she's tough."

Eamon snorts, "Yeah, that's Casey for you. Tough."

"And you think that's a bad thing?"

"Ah – it's just that Casey can be stubborn – very, very stubborn."

"That's part of what makes her a great prosecutor, and trust me, it'll help her get through this."

He exhales, "I know. I just wish she could have chosen a different profession. Seeing her like this makes me so angry. She looks so much like our mother but she acts like our father. They'll both gripe about the weather, or work, or money, but if something bad actually happens they'll pretend that everything is just fine."

Olivia nods. "So, I met your father and you before, what's the rest of your family like?"

"If you knew the size of our family you wouldn't ask that question." He shrugs. "I'm older than Casey by seven years. My wife Mary and I have three kids, Matt, Doug, and Ellen. My brother Carrick is two and a half years older than Casey. He's a teacher, and lives out in Oregon with his wife Jennie and their daughter Cleo. Brian's the baby – he's five years younger than Casey, and he's in medical school in Baltimore right now. Our father has three siblings, and our mother had four, so we have twenty-four cousins."

Olivia laughs, "I hope I'm not expected to keep all that straight, but if I got it right then you and Brian are twelve years apart. That's a big difference."

"Yeah," Eamon says in a flat tone. I suppose Olivia's cop's intuition tells her that she is approaching a sore subject, so she leaves it at that. (1)

"So, do you want something for lunch?"

"Eh – I think I'll stay where I am until Case wakes up." That's my cue.

"I'm awake E. And I hear someone taking my name in vain." I open my puffy eyes and look up to see Eamon smiling down at me.

(I wish people would stop smiling sympathetically at me. The way they smile makes me I feel like I'm the little kid that no one will take seriously. And worse yet, it's form of condescension that I can't complain about because if I were to say, 'stop smiling at me' I would really sound like a child.)

"How you feeling Casey?" he asks.

I wince at the pain in my head as I sit up. "_Fine_."

My big brother gives Olivia a meaningful look. Shit. I just said 'fine' like he said I would. But goddamn it, it's a reflex. When you pass someone in the hall and they ask you 'How are you?' do you go on at length about your personal life? No, you say, 'I'm fine, how are you?' Can I help it if our culture is filled with empty ritual fashioned to imitate genuine human interaction?

I _need_ to stop thinking. My head feels like it's in a vise. (2)

I open my eyes but then close them against the harsh light of the afternoon sun. I whisper, "Ok, my head hurts. A lot. Could you please get me water and ibuprofen or aspirin, or something?" Olivia stands up.

"I'll get it."

"Thanks," I say.

"You should probably eat something, C.C."

"Cici? " Olivia asks.

I roll my eyes. I say, "Uh – old nickname. Casey Cecilia Novak."

Olivia sets a glass of water and some ibuprofen in front of me. As I down the pills and water she says, "As far as nicknames go that isn't too bad."

Eamon says, "What's yours?"

"No way I'm telling you."

"I'll tell you his," I say hoarsely. "But first you have to say what yours is."

Olivia sits back down. "Deal. But mine is pretty juvenile. In second grade I had a teacher who couldn't get my name right; she kept on calling me Olive. Then a boy in my class nicknamed me Olive Oil, and that was my nickname until fourth grade."

"Oh, Eamon's nickname is worse, but it's obvious. Demon."

Eamon rolls his eyes, "What our parents were thinking?"

"No idea," I whisper. "But Eamon is Irish, like all our names. Probably some relative's name." I turn to Olivia, "Ironically, Eamon is the responsible one." My voice is still hoarse, but the headache has started to go away. In the past few days I have realized that crying equals dehydration equals headaches. Which means I have to drink a lot of water.

"Well CC, you weren't around during my early years. I've been told that I was a little hyperactive."

"I'll have to ask dad about that sometime." Suddenly I feel worse. I have to tell my dad about being raped. And I don't want to. I glace to Eamon. He knows what I'm thinking, and he puts my hand in his.

"It's ok Case."

Olivia gives me a look and says, "You know Case, there are some files that I need to get at the office. Do you mind if I leave for a while?" What she means is that she will leave my brother and me alone to talk, but only if that's what I want.

"Yeah Liv, it's fine." I smile at her. It's the _'I'm ok, go on without me'_ smile. As opposed to the _'I'm actually happy' _smile.

"Ok, I'll be back in an hour or two. If you two want food there are a bunch of takeout menus in the cabinet above the kitchen sink, and you're welcome to eat anything edible you can find. Call if you need anything."

Now I know that Olivia is leaving for our benefit; it only takes thirty minutes to get to the precinct and back. So she leaves me alone with my brother. And I have no idea what I'm supposed to say.

* * *

1) I'll explain that later

2) vise: it's a tool that holds things tightly together, not the same thing as 'vice'

* * *

**A/N: **And how'd you like it? Good? Bad? Pleeeeaaaase? I love feedback : ) _AND_ I will send you good cosmic energy while I'm meditating. _OR_, If you write, and you review my story I will review your story! How can you resist that?


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N:** I seem to be on a roll. Hope you enjoy.

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**Wednesday, November 14****th,**** 2007, around 12:30 pm**

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"Casey, do you want to get some food?" And all of a sudden the thought of food makes me feel nauseous. I run to Olivia's toilet, and thankfully I don't actually puke, but it takes me a few minutes to stand up again. Eamon follows closely behind me.

"Casey, are you ok?"

"I feel sick." He steadies me and feels my forehead.

"Maybe you're coming down with something." He frowns. "I think you have a fever."

"No E, it's not that." Oh fuck. Now I have to explain to my brother that I might get HIV. "Look, can we just talk?" I feel like I'm going to fall or pass out; maybe it's the meds, maybe it's the thought of talking about this. It's probably a combination of the two. Eamon grabs my shoulders and steers me toward the kitchen table where we sit.

"So I'm guessing that you don't want food?"

I sigh as I rest my head on the cold table, "I probably should eat. Elliot and Olivia and Adria have been forcing food upon me for the past few days."

"Good. When you got sick as a kid you always ate popsicles."

"Yeah, I remember. But I'm not actually sick."

"Case, what do you mean?"

I shut my eyes as tears come. "E, they gave me a bunch of drugs at the hospital and they have a lot of side effects. You see, the guy who… who raped me had AIDS. So the drugs might help keep me from getting the virus but they might not. And I won't know for a month."

E wraps his arms around me and kisses my head. And I think he's crying. My big brother is crying because of me, and I hate it. I hate Lietnen for doing this to Eamon, maybe more than I hate him for doing it to me.

"Look E, don't tell anyone yet. Not about the HIV. Not until I know. And please, please, don't tell dad; I'm afraid it would kill him."

"Casey, we won't tell him about the HIV yet if you don't want to, but he still needs to know the rest of what happened. Besides, dad is too tough to be killed by anything. He's only sixty-three; and you know he's not going to die until he decides it's God's time to take him. "

I smile for one moment, "Eamon, you realize that after we talk to him, he's going to ask Father Holt to pray for me."

"Casey, _I'm_ going to ask Father Holt to pray for you. And you should talk to him sometime. He asks me about you."

"Well, he's been our priest for a long time. But I'm not sure I want him to pray for me."

"Why not?"

"I'm not sure I can handle divine intervention. Besides I'm not a good Catholic anymore so god will probably ignore me."

"I don't think it works that way Case."

I shrug "Eh, who knows? Just when you get to heaven say hi to mom for me, okay?"

"You can talk to her yourself. And we should call dad. Now."

"E, I don't want anyone else in the family to know yet. I'll tell them in person when we're together at thanksgiving, okay?"

"We'll tell dad that."

I take Olivia's phone and call dad's house, hoping that he won't be home. He's got his pension, but he still volunteers, and sometimes works. I dial and after two and a half rings dad picks up. I put him on speaker phone.

"Hi daddy." My voice quavers. I almost never call my father daddy anymore, so he knows something's wrong.

"Casey, are you alright?"

"Dad I'm here with Eamon, and I need to talk to you. You're on speaker phone."

"Eamon? I thought you had a meeting now."

"Dad, this is more important."

"Eamon what happened? Angel, what's wrong?" Eamon looks at me as if to say, _I can tell him if you want._ But I shake my head. My father needs to hear this from me; even if I feel sick, and tired, and terrified, he needs to hear it from me.

"Dad. I'm ok, but there's something I have to tell you. I wish I didn't have to say this over the phone, but you should know. I…" I start crying. "I was attacked in my home on Friday night and he…" I can't breath, I choke on tears, but I say it anyways, "he raped me."

"What happened to the man who attacked you? Did the police get him?" He sounds angrier than I've ever heard him.

"Ah – he's dead daddy, I wanted him to stop, and he had a gun, and I grabbed it and shot him with it." It is quiet for a long moment

"Are you – how badly are you injured?"

I can't speak anymore, "Dad, she's alright. She has a small concussion, a broken wrist, and bruises and cuts."

"Casey, I'll come down as soon as I can get a flight."

I'm still gasping for air but I manage to speak, "No – I'll be okay dad. I have friends who are helping me, and I'll come home early for thanksgiving. Please."

"Casey, why don't you come now? I'm sure your brother won't mind. Or you could stay in your old room."

"I wouldn't mind dad, but I understand if Case wants to stay with Detective Benson for a few days. With the kids – well, it will be pretty noisy and they'll want to climb all over Aunt Casey, whether she's at your house or mine." I give my brother a look of undying gratitude. He understands that I don't want to be smothered.

"Well, alright. But you make sure her friends are taking care of her."

"I will."

"Casey, I'll ask Father Holt to pray for you."

"Thanks dad," I say. "Look, dad – please don't tell Carrick and Bri yet. I'd rather tell them in person when we're all home."

"Alright Casey, I won't. But call me tomorrow." The way he speaks it's not a request.

"Yes daddy."

"Do you mind if I talk to your brother alone?"

"No, It's ok. I love you daddy." (I know that dad wants to talk about me with Eamon and while it's sort of annoying I'm still my dad's little angel, and Eamon is still the responsible big brother; nothing will change that for my dad, so I might as well accept it.)

"I love you angel." Then Eamon takes the phone and turns off the speakerphone.

I walk across the apartment, and curl up on the airbed. I feel numb, and my head is buzzing. But my father didn't freak out. Of course, my father never freaks out. As a kid the only time I ever saw him cry was when mom died. He came home crying and told my aunt (who was staying with us kids while mom was in labor) and us what happened. He cried at her funeral. He cried for a moment when Milan Zergin beat me up. But that's it.

When dad and Eamon are done talking fifteen minutes later Eamon comes over and sits next to me on the bed. "Casey I know that you're probably tired, but there are some other things I want to ask you."

I'm still starting off into space, but I say, "Ok, shoot."

"Casey, do you mind if I tell Mary? You know I can't lie to her about anything and this is…"

I know my brother can't keep something like this from his wife, and I wouldn't ask him to. Besides Mary has one of the biggest hearts of anyone I know. "Yeah E, you can tell, it's fine. Just make sure she doesn't panic. I don't want her to worry about me, okay?"

"Alright."

"Casey, the other thing is – I just don't want you to go back to your old apartment."

I snort, "Neither do I E. I'm staying with Olivia now, but I'll have to find a place. I might have to couch surf for a few weeks if Olivia needs space, but I have friends who'd put me up. With rent what it is, it might take me a while to find something decent."

"Look, I'll help you buy an apartment. You pick out a safe apartment in a building and neighborhood that you like, and I'll help you cover the mortgage. Or if you want to rent I'll help you with that"

"E – I can't. I can't ask you to do that for me!"

"Casey, do you think I chose to climb the corporate ladder because I enjoy the long hours? I do it for Mary, the kids, and you. Because I want to make sure that if you need anything, I can give it to you."

I start crying. Again. This is just how Eamon is. He saw how our father worked hard long hours of physical labor and fretting over the bills at night. He worked after school every day and would have dropped out of high school and gotten a full time job if dad had let him. After he graduated from college and married Mary he worked and went to business school at the same time.

"Don't cry Casey. I want to help. Making one fifty grand a year has it's perks. And there's a good chance that the company will going public soon – we have a bunch of venture capitalists looking at it. If that happens we'll never have to worry about money again."

I smile, "You know E, I really have no idea what you do."

"We make hardware and software. I'm the CFO."

"So you think you're so special?" I smile.

"Only because you're my sister." He ruffles my hair. "Now I'm going to call your Olivia and ask her to bring you some popsicles."

"Since when is she _my_ Olivia?"

"Since she started acting like your patron saint."

* * *

**A/N:** I had a very hard time picturing Casey saying 'daddy', but I figured that if something like that happened regressing a little would be normal. Aside from that I wanted to show her getting more used to telling people she was raped – not that the event seems less traumatic, just that she is more able to admit that she was a victim.

A question for anyone kind enough to review: Do I use the word Okay too much? It's a very common word in my vocabulary, but I wonder if it's starting to be a verbal/writing tic… It is what I always seem to say when I'm speaking to my parents. "ok, ok, ok…" sort of like plugging my ears and saying "la, la, la…"

Another question for Catholics out there: do you pray/ask priests to pray for someone? I don't know how that works.

**Please Review**, : ) I love it. _AND_, as I said before, if you write, and you review my story, I will review your story.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N:** Sorry if it's bad. My muses seem to have abandoned me, so I had to write this little chapter with my own… lets say oomph. Believe it or not, that word is in my dictionary. I used the word "and" forty-six times in this chapter. And I used it at the beginning of many sentences. My fifth grade English teacher would tsk-tsk me for that. But she never taught me to write first-person stream-of-consciousness fiction. Because I was like, ten. And now I'm almost twenty. Holy shit that's scary. _(End of author's annoying monologue)._

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**Wednesday, November 14****th,**** 2007, around 2 pm**

* * *

Olivia comes back with popsicles and Elliot. Unlike Olivia, Elliot has never met my brother before, since he was busy working the case after Zergin attacked me. But Elliot and Eamon look each other over the way two alpha males will, and then they start talking.

Elliot asks Eamon about his family, and out come the photos of Matt, 9; Doug, 5; and Ellen, 3. Then Elliot talks about what his kids were like at that age, and how quick they grow up. Then they start to go on about all of the paternal joys and angst. Then they start talking about cars. Olivia and I sit in the kitchen as they talk in the living room.

"Oh no. Olivia, I think they're bonding."

"Boys." She shakes her head.

I smile ruefully, "No, it's worse than that: Catholic family men who like cars, fishing, and power tools."

"You're right Case, that is worse."

We sit and talk for a while. I still feel numb. But I can talk about inconsequential things. And I do.

I'm weak from the meds, and my injuries, and the feeling that none of this is quite real. But everyone keeps telling me to eat, so I try. The popsicles are the kind that we had in elementary school that come in grape, cherry, and orange and you break them in half and split with your best friend. But since I am the only one in the room who feels like shit and can't eat normal people food I try to eat one by myself.

Olivia says, "Casey, your lips are bright red."

"I guess I don't need lipstick then." I'm feeling a little better, that is until I look down at what I'm eating. A popsicle. Somehow I just didn't think of that before, but now that I realize that I have been sucking on a phallic symbol I have to throw the rest of it away before I puke. Freud would be so proud.

_He forces me to my knees. His gun is pressed against my head. It's cold. He pulls down his pants and tells me to suck. Then he tells me to swallow. I want to vomit; I am shaking, crying. I want to scream, but I can't make a sound. _

I am shaking at the memory of it. "You ok Casey?"

"Yeah Liv," I say, fighting back nausea. "But I don't think I like popsicles anymore."

Olivia obviously knows what I mean. "uh – yeah, the thought occurred to me. Sorry."

"Your unit has corrupted me Liv." I try to say that jokingly, but instead it sounds a little bitter. Neither of us want to acknowledge the deeper truth of that statement: this is not junior high, and we are not joking about popsicles and penises and sex ed; this is real human evil that infiltrates every facet of your life once you're exposed to it.

And it makes me think that maybe God doesn't exist. Because if He exists then He is cruel or indifferent. And if people are an accident then life is meaningless. And if that is true than there is no good and no evil, and life is simply absurd. _And maybe I should have dropped that idiotic undergrad philosophy class…_

It occurs to me that intellectualizing what happened is a from of denial. It also occurs to me that I don't care. But really, I probably do. My tangled thoughts make me want to cry, but I don't. I won't cry more than three (four?) times in one day.

Eamon is in the corner of the room talking to some people from work, because he had to reschedule meetings because of me. And he explains that he had a _"family emergency." _And yes, "_everything is ok_." And he will meet tomorrow to discuss the possibility of financial backing. And he can talk about the response of the focus groups now. And he does.

"_Everything is ok."_ And a quotation pops into my mind: _"Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt."_ Well, fuck you too Vonnegut. (1)

Elliot comes and sits next to me. He says, "Hey." (I think,_ How succinct of him_)

I say (succinctly), "Hi."

"You know, I had to take that antiretroviral stuff once."

"Oh," I say.

And I think, _What the fuck – how was he exposed to AIDS?_

And I say, "How were you exposed?"

He pauses for a moment. "On the job," he says.

And I think that he is probably not giving me the long version because _you don't want to upset the fragile rape victim_. No, _use soothing words_, and _omit anything that's rated R, because she's already had enough of that_. And I'm thinking about myself in the third person. Wonderful.

"Casey?" Olivia's trying to get my attention.

"What? Sorry. I was somewhere else."

Elliot says, "It's fine Casey."

"Um… so, Elliot… the drugs…"

"Made me feel like shit." He answers my unfinished question. "Try peanut butter on bread and milk. And don't eat anything acidic like orange juice or coffee." I roll my eyes. Yet another person conspiring to take caffeine away from me.

When Eamon is off the phone we watch the most classic (and now clichéd) detective movie there is. Private investigator Sam Spade tries to solve the murder of his partner, Miles Archer, and all while he is surrounded by shady characters after the 'Maltese Falcon'.

I saw this movie with Charlie a while after we met. He took me to an authentic Brazilian restaurant and refused to split the check, then we walked to this old theatre that showed classic movies. It was our second date. We held hands. He drove me back to my apartment kissed me goodnight. It was so innocent, and now it seems unreal.

I am crying. Shit. Eamon takes my hand, and I flinch, but he holds on anyways.

* * *

**Footnotes: **(1) The quotation is from Slaughterhouse Five, which is Kurt Vonnegut's autobiographical tale of having survived the bombing of Dresden in WWII. Anyways, the main character, the pathetic Billy Pilgrim, wants "Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt" to be his epitaph – because well… life is meaningless, and he has to believe life isn't terrible too, and he has major PTSD... um... you have to read the book. I love Vonnegut, but his writing is existential so… read with caution. Sorry if this doesn't explain anything.

**A/N: **Well? Whatcha think? Good? Bad? Please Review. I love feedback :)


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N:** Greetings earthlings! I am currently living in the lovely state of Vermont, although it is less lovely if you are living in a tiny dorm room with a roommate who doesn't speak and you have and ton of work, and you don't have a car so you can't go anywhere. Big sigh… Anyways, I will try to keep posting despite all of that.

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**Thursday, November 15****th,**** 2007, 2:14 am**

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"_Cay, look it's snowing!" Carrick whispers loudly as he opens the door to my room. "Come outside with me!" I stir, and tiptoe to my window. It's early in the morning, so early that it's still dark out, but my father has already left for work. The snow is coming down quickly in fat flakes. _

_As Carrick waits for me I pull on pants, sweater, jacket, hat, and gloves over my PJs. Bri is sound asleep in his crib, and Eamon is too old to wake up at quarter to five for a snowstorm, so Carrick and I sneak downstairs together and quietly close the back door behind us as we slip out. _

_I run out into the snow laughing, twirling around in circles. A snowball impacts my chest with a dull thud, and I fall backwards into the soft snow. When I look up I see my brother standing over me. I stick out my tongue. "Don't be mean Car." In response he flops down in the snow beside me and starts to make a snow angel. I make one too._

_When I am done I jump up and brush the snow off me. I reach to the ground and pack white powder into snowballs. Out of fairness I wait until Carrick is standing up. Then I bombard him. We chase after each other until we are both exhausted. _

_We sit on the back steps of the house together. The angels we made are already completely covered, and the snow just keeps coming down. I see something move in the corner of the yard. It's a gray-brown doe, chewing on some twigs._

_I whisper, "Look, a deer!" Carrick sees and he starts to pack snow together. Before he can throw the snowball I grab his arm. "No, don't scare it." I walk as quietly as I can to the far side of the lawn. I am the same height as the doe, and it looks me straight in the eyes before turning around and running off. For some reason I chase it._

_Car yells, "Casey don't run off. Eamon will get mad." But I am already gone. I try to catch up to the deer, but it is too fast for me and I lose sight of it. The falling snow covers its tracks. _

"_Casey, Carrick! Get back inside; you have to get ready for school now." I hear Eamon yelling, but I can't see him through the billowing snow. I turn around in circles, looking for my house, but I can't find it. _

_Then everything changes. The other houses in my neighborhood aren't there either. Instead I am lost in a cold empty space. My hands and cheeks burn in the frigid air. The sky changes from grey blue to bright white as the sun rises and I am blinded by the glare coming off the snow. The brilliant light brings tears to my eyes and they fall down my cheeks and land in the packed snow. I look down to shield my eyes from the glare._

_When I look up again _he_ is standing in front of me, his genitalia hanging out of his pants, the blood from the two gunshot wounds in his chest soaking his shirt and pants. I can see ugly purple lesions on his neck and arm. He opens and closes his mouth, like he's trying to say something. I look down at my hands and see the gun. It's covered in sticky, dark-red blood, and my hands are shaking furiously. I have almost no clothes on and the cold is biting into me. It hurts. Everything hurts. I scream for help, but I'm all alone._

* * *

"Casey, baby wake up. It's just a nightmare. You're safe." Hands are on my wrists. My pillow is wet and my nose and sinuses are clogged.

"Wha – Olivia?" She has my wrists in some kind of hold. "I was… He found me and I…"

"Casey, hon, it was just a dream."

A dream. It was a dream. But I'm really cold.

"Liv… can you… let go…"

"Oh, sorry." She lets go of me. "You were just thrashing around a lot. You okay now?"

"Uh – I guess." I rub my arms as I sit up. I look around and collect my wits. It's late, but I can see the city light coming in through the curtained windows. I can hear sirens, and music from the building across the street. Dogs bark, people yell, and everything hums; it's a low-grade buzz of electricity, people, movement. It never stops here. Those constant sounds bring me back to the present. Thank god, I'm not lost, I'm not alone.

Olivia says, "You were crying and yelling, so I woke you up. You sure you're alright?"

"Yeah… I… sorry I woke you." I reach to the table next to my bed and grab some tissues. I blow my nose.

"It's fine." She puts her hand on my forehead. "Case, I think you have a fever." Since I'm still shaking and I feel like I'm freezing it's hard to wrap my head around the idea that my core body temperature could be _higher_ than normal.

Olivia stands up and goes to her WC. She gets something and brings it back to the bed. It's one of those thermometers that go in the ear. She hands it to me and I stick it in my ear and press the little button. I look at the display. 99.9° Fahrenheit. Now I have a fever too; I officially hate AIDS drugs. What are they called again? I think. Antiretrovirals – that's what they're called. My head hurts.

Olivia stands and goes to the kitchen. I follow her. She rifles through the kitchen cabinet and pulls a bottle of Tylenol out. I lean against the counter and accept the pills she hands to me. I swallow them dry.

Olivia asks, "As long as we're awake, do you want something to drink – water or tea, maybe?"

"Uh, sure." We sit at the kitchen table and Olivia makes us some tea. The light in the kitchen is on but dim. She sits down and places a mug full of the steaming liquid in front of me.

"Casey, do you want to talk about it?" I sigh. I hate dreams. They make sense but they don't. Everything is connected and mixed up. It's there until you reach for it, then it dissolves… _and like this unsubstantial pageant faded, leave not a rack behind. _(1) Ninth grade English class aside, my dream still doesn't make any sense.

I try to articulate it anyways.

"I don't really remember it all. _He_ was there and then I woke up but I don't remember all of what happened before that… in it I was a kid and I was playing in the backyard. It was snowing – and I got lost." I shake my head, "Liv that's all of it." She nods, understanding what I mean.

"Whenever I work too long on a case I dream about it – and I've had dreams about being stalked, about Fin getting shot – and now about having my apartment broken into. And when it's about work the dreams always get confused with my past and everything else. Dreams are the mind's way of making sense of what's happened. The problem is that most violence is senseless."

I look at Olivia. She looks tired, and It's not because what happened to me. She looked like that before all of this – even when I first met her she was jaded. She's not as cynical as most cops, but she's world-weary. Amazingly she's still angry enough and compassionate enough to keep on fighting. My heart goes out to her. I wish I could give her back what her life and the job have taken away.

I ask, "Olivia, how do you sleep at all?"

"Sometimes I don't. I've always gone back to work or to the shooting range. Sometimes I call Eliot too, but I worry about bothering his family."

I sigh, "Usually when I can't sleep I work or I work out but I can't do either now."

And then there's really nothing else to say. We both know that we can't escape our nightmares; we just have to live with them.

We sit in silence for a while. The Tylenol starts to work a little. I think; I don't like drugs, but I want to sleep, and I don't want to dream. So I go to the counter where I set all the meds the doctors gave me. I take two of the one-milligram tablets of lorazapam – which is the most the doctor said I should take.

I sit with Olivia and wait for the drugs to take effect. After thirty minutes my nausea and jitteriness are overcome by a weight that is forcing me to close my eyes. I stand up and say good night and I stumble into bed.

* * *

**F/N:**_ ._ (1) Shakespeare. The Tempest:_ Be cheerful, sir: Our revels now are ended. These our actors,  as I foretold you, were all spirits, and  are melted into air, into thin air: and like the baseless fabric of this vision, the cloud-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces,  the solemn temples, the great globe itself,  yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, and, like this insubstantial pageant faded,  leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep._

**A/N:** Forgive the overly dramatic dream sequence. Casey was dreaming about snow because she had a fever and she was cold – I know that that sounds counterintuitive, but I always feel cold when I get sick… My use of symbolism is unintentional, but if you want, you can decide what it all means. PS, in this dream sequence the ages of Casey and her siblings are:Eamon (14)**, **Carrick (10)**, **Casey (7 ½ )**, **Brian (2 ½ ).

**Please please review. My offer of giving review for review stands. ; )**


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N**: Here is a nice fat chapter. It's _really _long. And I wrote it quickly too. I think I deserve a cookie.

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**Thursday, November 15****th,**** 2007, 10:10 am **

* * *

When I wake up I puke, which is funny, because I could swear that there was nothing left in my stomach. I feel stiff and tired from the lorazapam. As for the HIV meds, I have the whole laundry list of less severe side effects: my head and stomach hurt, I don't want to eat, and I can't sleep without drugs. Although some of those problems could be attributed to trauma or PTSD, or whatever you want to call it.

My head is still buzzing. I am empty, and I mean that in both a literal and metaphorical sense. The bad dreams I woke up with are still in the back of my mind; _he's touching me, and there's blood. I grab the gun. I pull the trigger. Then he's dead. His body is on top of me. _

When Olivia touches my shoulder I wince. I am shaking. She pulls me up from the bathroom floor where I'm sitting. She puts a down comforter on my shoulders and leads me to the kitchen table where I sit.

One week minus thirty-six hours ago I was being raped. I was raped less than a week ago. And I'm not really present because I'm back in my apartment with Lietnen and I can feel him doing all these terrible things to me. I say to him, _Get out of my fucking head._ He doesn't. I say to myself, _stop thinking._ I can't.

I am staring off into space.

"Casey. Casey, talk to me." I don't say anything. "Casey are you okay?"

"Yeah Olivia, just peachy." I suppose my voice sounds flat. I feel flat.

"Casey look at me." I do for a second, but I'm still staring out to nothingness, my eyes unfocused. She's holding onto my hands, which are freezing cold. Her hands are warm.

"Casey, you need to eat."

"I can't."

"It'll make you feel better," she coaxes. (What am I, six?)

"I feel sick to my stomach."

"Then at least drink something." She stands up and gets something from the fridge. Gatorade. She hands it to me, and I need to take the meds anyways, so I stand and walk to the kitchen counter and open the bottles with shaking hands and down the pills with the drink. _There, happy? Now leave me alone._ I sit back down.

"Look Case, do you have the card from that HIV specialist? Maybe there's something different that you can take, since you feel sick."

"I've been given half a dozen doctors cards in the past week, Olivia, and I don't want to see any of them."

"I can call him for you."

"No."

"Casey – "

"No."

"There might be something wrong."

"I'll live. At least until I get AIDS."

"You can't think like that Casey."

"Basic logic Olivia: I am, therefore I can."

She sighs. "Casey I've been working with SVU for a long time – "

"Is this the part where you telling me that what I'm feeling is normal?"

"It is normal, but that's not what I was going to say. You have to talk to someone."

"You mean a shrink," I say contemptuously.

"Yes – I called a psychologist who used to consult with SVU yesterday. She has an opening today at one – "

A part of me thinks, _You had no right._ But I don't have the energy to be angry.

"I don't want to talk."

"I can tell. Go anyways."

"What if I don't?"

"I'm not your keeper. But you should go. I'll drive you."

I have no real resolve, so I nod. "Who is she?"

"Her name is Doctor Elizabeth Olivet. She works with a lot of women and children who have been victims of abuse and rape, and people with PTSD."

"My insurance may not cover it."

"We have the same insurance – and it's covered, I checked."

I nod and say, "Okay, I'll go."

I haven't left Olivia's apartment since Tuesday. Which is strange. I can't think of the last time I was inside for more than twenty-four hours. Except at the hospital. But I'm not sure that counts. And the part of me that's tired doesn't want to move at all.

But I might as well go – It's not like I've much to _do_ anyways. Actually I have nothing to do. Nothing at all. Which is strange, because I can't remember the last time I was at loose ends. It was definitely sometime before kindergarten.

I brush my teeth and shower and dress, very slowly, trying not to chafe the parts of me that hurt. Loose jeans, comfortable bra and tank top, with a long sleeve shirt and hoodie sweater on top. I put my long damp hair into a ponytail and I even put on make up. I feel like shit, but that doesn't mean I have to look like it. I'm not going to let myself completely fall apart. I look at myself in the mirror.

The make-up makes me look, if not good, presentable. My hair is longer than it has been for a long time. My roots are showing - I need to dye it again. I think that maybe I should go back to my natural color. It would be easier to take care of. My hair is dark red. I high-lighted it, then dyed it blond, then I tried to dye it red to get it back to normal, but it looked all wrong, so I dyed it blond again. I suppose that I could let it grow out, but it would look weird…

Hair problems aside, I don't _that_ bad. Lietnen only left one thin cut on my face. It goes from near the top of my forehead to my left temple. The doctors used clear wire stuff for the stitches, but it's still very visible, and I'm definitely going to have a scar, but the doctor said that laser scar removal would make it near invisible. I'm not sure I believe him.

I look at that cut, and my face, and I feel like I'm looking at someone else. There are dark circles under her eyes that make-up can't completely hide. She's a little thinner than I am. Who loses weight in less than a week? The 'her' part of me thinks, _All my friends will be jealous._ I laugh at the thought, and immediately hope that Olivia didn't hear. I don't want to explain my thinking process to her, and I don't want her to think I'm hysterical – at least not more than she already does.

But despite cuts and shadows under her eyes the woman in the mirror doesn't _look_ like she was raped. I don't _look _like a rape victim. Another part of me says, _Casey, what a stupid thing to think_. Anyone can be a rape victim, _anyone_. That's what SVU taught me.

There's that buzzing feeling again. And I look at my image in the mirror and think, _what the hell happened to you? _And I think,_ I was raped, that's what happened._ I stop feeling separate from the image of myself. This is me.

My hands start shaking. I walk to the living room and sit cross-legged on the couch. It's sort of like floating, this feeling. I'm here and gone at the same time, so I just stare off into space, because there's nothing else that I can do.

Olivia is sitting at her desk and working on some case files. Because she can't not work; I think that at this point she doesn't even know how to rest. And she knows that I don't want anyone near right now.

I turn on NPR and listen for a while. Then I flip to a radio station with jazz playing and watch CNN on mute. I may be more updated on world events now then I have been in the last ten years. After thirty minutes or so Fin comes with the squad car and Olivia buzzes him up.

He enters the apartment and I stand up to greet him. My head spins for a moment but I head into the kitchen anyways.

Fin gives my shoulder a squeeze, which, as far as I can tell, is about as affectionate as he gets. "How you holding up?" I shrug. He nods, understanding that I don't want to talk.

"Hang in there. If you need anything – ask, alright?"

"Okay." I grab my shoulder bag with my wallet and phone in it and head out the door. Olivia locks up behind me. I feel a little lightheaded walking down the stairs. Fin steadies me as we walk to the car then hands Olivia the keys.

Olivia asks him, "Do you need a ride back to the precinct?"

"Nah – I'm head'in downtown on the A train to have lunch with Ken."

Olivia smiles. "Tell him I said hi," she says.

"From me too," I say.

It's good to know that Fin is mending bridges despite a astoundingly difficult family situation. I don't really know Ken thatwell; but I know that Fin has a difficult time accepting his gay son, and Ken has a hard time forgiving his absent father. And they both have to deal with Darius dragging their family's and SVU's reputation through the mud. But despite the problems that trial caused I don't blame Ken for protecting his family – under similar circumstance I might have done the same thing.

I get into the passenger side door, and Olivia climbs into the driver's seat. Olivia drives. We don't speak. I look outside the windows. At a red light I see a kid stamping his foot and yelling, "I don't wanna go." I can feel my face flush with embarrassment. An hour and a half ago that was me. A part of me says, _Stupid, stupid Casey; you're regressing the point of throwing temper tantrums when your friends try to help you._

"Sorry for being an ingrate," I blurt out.

"It's ok. I understand – "

I cut Olivia off. "No – it's not ok. None of this is okay. And I'm sorry – I just don't want this to be _me_. But I don't want to make you miserable either."

"You're not making me miserable, Case. I don't expect you to be cheery and talkative; I wouldn't want you to be after this… because denial won't help. And I understand that you don't want me to hover, so I'll give you space, but just don't shut me out completely."

"I won't."

* * *

Olivia parks the car near a diner and we have lunch there. She doesn't tell me that I should eat, but I try anyways. It's nice basic food, so I have some chicken soup and chocolate milk shake. I can only finish half, but it's the most I've eaten since last Friday, and I feel stuffed.

After lunch we walk a a block east to the building near Columbus Circle where Dr. Olivet's office is. We take the elevator up to the third floor and I enter into Dr. Olivet's office hesitantly.

I have been to therapy twice in my life – and then it was with a priest and a social worker, not a doctor. The first time was when my mother died. I was a kid, and I refused to speak to anyone outside of my immediate family for weeks. I almost failed second grade, if that's possible, and my school and my father decided that I needed therapy. Since I was six and I didn't have a choice, I went. The other time was after Charlie was hospitalized for the third time. I broke up with him. I was angry at him and felt guilty about leaving him. I just needed to vent, and it was a good outlet.

But that was completely different.

I can't seem to stay still as I wait. I fidget, tapping my feet up and down, folding and unfolding my hands. Olivia sits across from me, reading a book. Finally someone leaves the doctor's office, and after a minute Dr. Olivet comes to the door. I stand up and she shakes my hand. "Hello Casey. It's nice to meet you."

I nod and follow her into her office without saying anything. We sit down.

"I would thank you for seeing me at the last minute, but I was sort of dragged here."

"It's alright. I understand that you are having a difficult time." Her expression is unnerving, disarming. I feel exposed somehow, like she can tell what I'm thinking, the things I can't talk about. Well, I guess that's part of her job.

"Do you mind if I write some notes down from our meetings?" she asks

"Yes, I do actually." (It bothers me, that she might be writing that I have this problem and that problem while I'm sitting right here.)

"Alright Casey, I won't."

"What did Olivia say about me? About what happened?" I ask.

"She told me that you were raped and forced to perform oral sex Friday night. That you killed the man who raped you in self-defense. She also told me about your injuries, that the man who raped you had HIV, and that you were in the hospital for a few days."

I nod. "So what do you what to ask me?"

"Why don't you tell me how you've been feeling?"

I resist the urge to groan. What a stereotypical shrink question. I have no idea how I feel. Detached? Inert? Numb? Empty? Overwhelmed? Underwhelmed… I don't know what to say, so I settle for a non-answer.

"I don't know… too much." I bite my lip. "I don't know what else to say."

"Normally I ask my patients why they are here and what they are feeling. I ask about their medical history, family history, and personal history."

"Okay," I say.

She asks questions and I answer. Some of it is pretty basic. I have no family history of mental illness. I have three brothers, my father fought in Vietnam and then worked in construction. I'm Catholic. My mother was a nurse. She died when I was six. And so on.

She asks me about work, and I tell her. I was a judicial clerk before I was an ADA. No, I did not want this job. Yes, it has changed me. And is seems like what we do is never enough. And I don't know if I can go back to it. But I don't want to be the person who gives up.

She asks about my recent relationships. I tell her about my friends and boyfriends. I tell her that I haven't had a real relationship since joining SVU. I have had one-night-stands with lawyers and doctors and businessmen that I picked up in bars and at social events. That's about it.

She asks if I have ever been engaged or married and I tell her about Charlie. What he was like. How his illness and death affected me. I start to cry about him. Damn it. I haven't cried about him since he hit me in 2002. I didn't even cry when he died seven months ago. I resigned to what happened. It was my fault; it was inevitable. It wasn't fair, but _that's life_, isn't it? I thought I was too jaded to cry then. But I guess I was wrong.

She also asks me some questions I did not expect. No, I was not sexually or physically abused as a child. I don't drink that much. I smoked pot once in college and I didn't like it. Besides, I was always too busy to sit around and get high. I have never heard voices. I have never had racing thoughts, gone on spending sprees, or felt too energetic. I have never been sad or irritable for two weeks at once or more. I don't have thoughts I can't get out of my head. I do not feel compelled to wash my hands repeatedly. And so on.

Then she asks me about Friday, about the rape. I go through the whole story a third time. I tell her about all the blood, where he cut me, that I felt the kick of the heavy gun and then his dead body lying on top of me. That I keep seeing it in my head. It still hurts. I cry again. I cry a lot. She hands me tissues.

She asks me about the last few days. I tell her that I didn't want to tell my brother and father, but I did anyways. She asks about how I felt. I say, "not so good."

She waits for me to say something else. When I don't she says, "Olivia told me that you've had trouble sleeping."

"Yeah."

"Casey, I could prescribe you some medication to help you sleep."

I sigh, "Whatever happened to 'just say no?'" She smiles.

"Casey, if you're worried about becoming dependent on drugs, you should know that if you take the prescribed amount the risk of addiction with sedatives is almost nonexistent."

I sigh for what has to be the thousandth time this afternoon. "Okay. I'll take it if I need it." She nods and takes out her prescription pad. She writes, tears the top sheet off, and hands it to me. She tells me that I should take one milligram at night and if that's not enough I should take one and a half. She tells me to call from Massachusetts on Monday to tell her how I'm doing; we'll schedule an appointment for when I get back in town.

* * *

I leave Dr. Olivet's office feeling drained. It's 4pm; I've experienced three long hours of benign interrogation. I can now empathize with the people Olivia and Elliot interrogate for hours on end.

I want to go home, and sleep, and generally forget about life; but being out in the real world reminds me of my duty. There are loose ends I have to tie up before I go home for thanksgiving, and I need to get started today if I'm going to leave Saturday.

I need to talk to Wilson and Koppel because there are just some things that don't go into the case files; my impression of the victims, who's a reliable witness, which criminals deserve the minimum sentence (a foolish young man who committed statutory rape - the girl loves him) and which deserve life without patrol (the rest of them).

I need to talk to some of the more traumatized victims (especially the children) to explain why I won't be prosecuting their cases.

And I want to show my face in the office and in the squad room, to ask about filing charges against Ocheret and to show that I'm not going to lay down and die – even if I want to right now. I know there will be people whispering behind my back, but I will have to deal with it sooner or later, and it might as well be sooner.

As for my family, Eamon is busy taking care of all the business stuff that he couldn't do yesterday. I know he'll call once he's done, and I need to call my father this evening.

My obligations. Duty. That's what gets me out of the bed in the morning when I hate my job. I can't give up that part of myself; especially not now. I sigh. It's going to be a long afternoon.

* * *

**A/N:** So the part with Dr. Olivet was difficult to write, because I'm not a psychiatrist. However, I have been to a few of them, and if I remember correctly, they start by asking you a lot of questions. And I mean _a lot_. Sorry if it's boring.

Review, because I'll review your story if you do. Plus, I'll be happy, which is good, because a happy writer is a prolific writer. Unless you're Hemingway. But I'm not Hemmingway. So please review. :)


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